Studia Patristica - Papers Presented at the Eighteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 2019: Liturgica, Tractatus ... Et Philologica (22) (Studia Patristica, 125) 9789042947788, 9789042947795, 9042947780

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STUDIA PATRISTICA VOL. CXXV

Papers presented at the Eighteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies held in Oxford 2019 Edited by MARKUS VINZENT Volume 22:

Liturgica, Tractatus symboli Orientalia Critica et Philologica

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT

2021

STUDIA PATRISTICA VOL. CXXV

STUDIA PATRISTICA Editor: Markus VINZENT, King’s College London, UK and Max Weber Centre, University of Erfurt, Germany

Board of Directors (2019): Carol HARRISON, Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Oxford, UK Mark EDWARDS, Professor of Early Christian Studies, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Oxford, UK Neil MCLYNN, University Lecturer in Later Roman History, Faculty of Classics, University of Oxford, UK Philip BOOTH, A.G. Leventis Associate Professor in Eastern Christianity, Faculty of Theology and Religion, University of Oxford, UK Sophie LUNN-ROCKLIFFE, Lecturer in Patristics, Faculty of Divinity, University of Cambridge, UK Morwenna LUDLOW, Professor, Theology and Religion, University of Exeter, UK Ioannis PAPADOGIANNAKIS, Senior Lecturer in Patristics, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, King’s College London, UK Markus VINZENT, Professor of the History of Theology, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, King’s College London, UK Josef LÖSSL, Professor of Historical Theology and Intellectual History, School of History, Archaeology and Religion, Cardiff University, UK Lewis AYRES, Professor of Catholic and Historical Theology, Department of Theology and Religion, Durham University, UK John BEHR, Regius Chair in Humanity, The School of Divinity, History, Philosophy & Art History, University of Aberdeen, UK Anthony DUPONT, Research Professor in Christian Antiquity, Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven, Belgium Patricia CINER (as president of AIEP), Professor, Universidad de San Juan-Universidad Católica de Cuyo, Argentina Clayton JEFFORD (as president of NAPS), Professor of Scripture, Seminary and School of Theology, Saint Meinrad, IN, USA

STUDIA PATRISTICA VOL. CXXV

Papers presented at the Eighteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies held in Oxford 2019 Edited by MARKUS VINZENT Volume 22:

Liturgica, Tractatus symboli Orientalia Critica et Philologica

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT

2021

© Peeters Publishers — Louvain — Belgium 2021 All rights reserved, including the right to translate or to reproduce this book or parts thereof in any form. D/2021/0602/159 ISBN: 978-90-429-4778-8 eISBN: 978-90-429-4779-5 A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Printed in Belgium by Peeters, Leuven

Table of Contents LITURGICA, TRACTATUS SYMBOLI Maria Theotokos ADAMS Beyond Diabasis Alone: Philo’s Alternative Liturgical Theology of Pascha and Early Christian Computus ................................................

3

Nils H. KORSVOLL Liturgy in Ancient Amulets – A Part of the Conversation ................

15

Thomas O’LOUGHLIN Rethinking the Didache’s Evidence for Eucharistic Practices in the Light of the Diversity of Practice Witnessed in Luke 22:17-20 ........

31

Kevin KÜNZL Chewing on the Eucharist or on the Gospel? The Metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD, John 6 and the Last Supper in Origen ..............................

39

Hugo MÉNDEZ What does Lazarus Have to Do with the Epiphany? Unraveling a Mystery in the Early Jerusalem Lectionary ........................................

51

Barry M. CRAIG His Multi-Lauded Hands: Origin and Evolution of the Hand Element in Liturgical Institution Narratives......................................................

65

Wolfram KINZIG What’s in a Creed? A New Perspective on Old Texts ......................

75

ORIENTALIA Arne J. HOBBEL Creation Theology in the Writings of Ephrem the Syrian .................

97

Seth M. STADEL The Biblical Sources of the Eschatology of Aphrahat ....................... 111 Philip Michael FORNESS The Earliest Syriac Homiliaries: Authorship and Anonymity ........... 123 Dominique GONNET A Syriac Life of Simeon Stylites (Ms. Damascus 12/17, ff. 52b.1-71b.3). Edition, Analysis and Perspectives ..................................................... 141

VI

Table of Contents

Jeff W. CHILDERS Jacob of Sarug’s Memra 9 On Praise at Table: A Newly Published Syriac Text .......................................................................................... 149 Nicolò SASSI Towards a New Edition of the Book of Hierotheos ........................... 157 Valentina DUCA Pauline Echoes in Isaac of Nineveh (7th Century): An Initial Investigation ................................................................................................. 165 Valentin-Cosmin VESA World and Body in the Writings of Isaac of Nineveh. Asceticism and Communication ................................................................................... 179 Candace L. BUCKNER A Healing Vision: Elements of the Greco-Roman Miraculous Healing Tradition in the Coptic Life of Onnophrius ........................................ 191 Catalin-Stefan POPA Invoking the Patristic Authority in Controversies. The 318 Fathers of Nicaea and the 150 Fathers of Constantinople in Late Antique East Syriac Texts ................................................................................. 205 Khachik GRIGORYAN Interpretation of Christological Passages of Pre-Chalcedonian Fathers by the 8th-Century Armenian Theologians Ovan Odznetsi and Khosrovik Targmanich ................................................................................ 215 Ayse ICOZ ‘Fear of God’ as the Foundation of Morality in the Ethical Writings of Medieval Arabophone Christian Authors ....................................... 223 CRITICA ET PHILOLOGICA Jan HEILMANN The Function of ‘Reading Aids’ in Early New Testament Manuscripts

239

Anahit AVAGYAN Armenische Übersetzung des pseudoathanasianischen Dialogus Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem (CPG 2257) ........................................... 249

Abbreviations AA.SS AAWG.PH AB AC ACL ACO ACW AHDLMA AJAH AJP AKK AKPAW ALMA ALW AnalBoll ANCL ANF ANRW AnSt AnThA APOT AR ARW ASS AThANT Aug AugSt AW AZ BA BAC BASOR BDAG BEHE BETL BGL BHG BHL

see ASS. Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen Philologisch-historische Klasse, Göttingen. Analecta Bollandiana, Brussels. Antike und Christentum, ed. F.J. Dölger, Münster. Antiquité classique, Louvain. Acta conciliorum oecumenicorum, ed. E. Schwartz, Berlin. Ancient Christian Writers, ed. J. Quasten and J.C. Plumpe, Westminster (Md.)/London. Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge, Paris. American Journal of Ancient History, Cambridge, Mass. American Journal of Philology, Baltimore. Archiv für katholisches Kirchenrecht, Mainz. Abhandlungen der königlichen Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Berlin. Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi (Bulletin du Cange), Paris/Brussels. Archiv für Liturgiewissenschaft, Regensburg. Analecta Bollandiana, Brussels. Ante-Nicene Christian Library, Edinburgh. Ante-Nicene Fathers, Buffalo/New York. Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt, ed H. Temporini et al., Berlin. Anatolian Studies, London. Année théologique augustinienne, Paris. Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English, ed. R.E. Charles, Oxford. Archivum Romanicum, Florence. Archiv für Religionswissenschaft, Berlin/Leipzig. Acta Sanctorum, ed. the Bollandists, Brussels. Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments, Zürich. Augustinianum, Rome. Augustinian Studies, Villanova (USA). Athanasius Werke, ed. H.-G. Opitz et al., Berlin. Archäologische Zeitung, Berlin. Bibliothèque augustinienne, Paris. Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, Madrid. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research, New Haven, Conn. A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, 3rd edn F.W. Danker, Chicago. Bibliothèque de l’École des Hautes Études, Paris. Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, Louvain. Benediktinisches Geistesleben, St. Ottilien. Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca, Brussels. Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina Antiquae et Mediae Aetatis, Brussels.

VIII BHO BHTh BJ BJRULM BKV BKV2 BKV3 BLE BoJ BS BSL BWAT Byz BZ BZNW CAr CBQ CChr.CM CChr.SA CChr.SG CChr.SL CH CIL CP(h) CPG CPL CQ CR CSCO

CSEL CSHB CTh CUF CW DAC

Abbreviations

Bibliotheca Hagiographica Orientalis, Brussels. Beiträge zur historischen Theologie, Tübingen. Bursians Jahresbericht über die Fortschritte der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft, Leipzig. Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, Manchester. Bibliothek der Kirchenväter, ed. F.X. Reithmayr and V. Thalhofer, Kempten. Bibliothek der Kirchenväter, ed. O. Bardenhewer, Th. Schermann, and C. Weyman, Kempten/Munich. Bibliothek der Kirchenväter. Zweite Reihe, ed. O. Bardenhewer, J. Zellinger, and J. Martin, Munich. Bulletin de littérature ecclésiastique, Toulouse. Bonner Jahrbücher, Bonn. Bibliotheca sacra, London. Bolletino di studi latini, Naples. Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten Testament, Leipzig/Stuttgart. Byzantion, Leuven. Byzantinische Zeitschrift, Leipzig. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, Berlin. Cahiers Archéologique, Paris. Catholic Biblical Quarterly, Washington. Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Mediaevalis, Turnhout/Paris. Corpus Christianorum, Series Apocryphorum, Turnhout/Paris. Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca, Turnhout/Paris. Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina, Turnhout/Paris. Church History, Chicago. Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, Berlin. Classical Philology, Chicago. Clavis Patrum Graecorum, ed. M. Geerard, vols. I-VI, Turnhout. Clavis Patrum Latinorum (SE 3), ed. E. Dekkers and A. Gaar, Turnhout. Classical Quarterly, London/Oxford. The Classical Review, London/Oxford. Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, Louvain. Aeth = Scriptores Aethiopici Ar = Scriptores Arabici Arm = Scriptores Armeniaci Copt = Scriptores Coptici Iber = Scriptores Iberici Syr = Scriptores Syri Subs = Subsidia Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, Vienna. Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae, Bonn. Collectanea Theologica, Lvov. Collection des Universités de France publiée sous le patronage de l’Association Guillaume Budé, Paris. Catholic World, New York. Dictionary of the Apostolic Church, ed. J. Hastings, Edinburgh.

Abbreviations

DACL DAL DB DBS DCB DHGE Did DOP DOS DR DS DSp DTC EA ECatt ECQ EE EECh EKK EH EO EtByz ETL EWNT ExpT FC FGH FKDG FRL FS FThSt FTS FZThPh GCS GDV GLNT GNO GRBS

IX

see DAL Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie, ed. F. Cabrol, H. Leclercq, Paris. Dictionnaire de la Bible, Paris. Dictionnaire de la Bible, Supplément, Paris. Dictionary of Christian Biography, Literature, Sects, and Doctrines, ed. W. Smith and H. Wace, 4 vols, London. Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastique, ed. A. Baudrillart, Paris. Didaskalia, Lisbon. Dumbarton Oaks Papers, Cambridge, Mass., subsequently Washington, D.C. Dumbarton Oaks Studies, Cambridge, Mass., subsequently Washington, D.C. Downside Review, Stratton on the Fosse, Bath. H.J. Denzinger and A. Schönmetzer, ed., Enchiridion Symbolorum, Barcelona/Freiburg i.B./Rome. Dictionnaire de Spiritualité, ed. M. Viller, S.J., and others, Paris. Dictionnaire de théologie catholique, ed. A. Vacant, E. Mangenot, and E. Amann, Paris. Études augustiniennes, Paris. Enciclopedia Cattolica, Rome. Eastern Churches Quarterly, Ramsgate. Estudios eclesiasticos, Madrid. Encyclopedia of the Early Church, ed. A. Di Berardino, Cambridge. Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament, Neukirchen. Enchiridion Fontium Historiae Ecclesiasticae Antiquae, ed. Ueding-Kirch, 6th ed., Barcelona. Échos d’Orient, Paris. Études Byzantines, Paris. Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses, Louvain. Exegetisches Wörterbuch zum NT, ed. H.R. Balz et al., Stuttgart. The Expository Times, Edinburgh. The Fathers of the Church, New York. Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Berlin. Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte, Göttingen. Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments, Göttingen. Festschrift. Freiburger theologische Studien, Freiburg i.B. Frankfurter theologische Studien, Frankfurt a.M. Freiburger Zeitschrift für Theologie und Philosophie, Freiburg/Switzerland. Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller, Leipzig/Berlin. Geschichtsschreiber der deutschen Vorzeit, Stuttgart. Grande Lessico del Nuovo Testamento, Genoa. Gregorii Nysseni Opera, Leiden. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, Mass.

X GWV HbNT HDR HJG HKG HNT HO HSCP HTR HTS HZ ICC ILCV ILS J(b)AC JBL JdI JECS JEH JJS JLH JPTh JQR JRS JSJ JSOR JTS KAV KeTh KJ(b) LCL LNPF L(O)F LSJ LThK LXX MA MAMA Mansi MBTh

Abbreviations

Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht, Offenburg. Handbuch zum Neuen Testament. Tübingen. Harvard Dissertations in Religion, Missoula. Historisches Jahrbuch der Görresgesellschaft, successively Munich, Cologne and Munich/Freiburg i.B. Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte, Tübingen. Handbuch zum Neuen Testament, Tübingen. Handbuch der Orientalistik, Leiden. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, Cambridge, Mass. Harvard Theological Review, Cambridge, Mass. Harvard Theological Studies, Cambridge, Mass. Historische Zeitschrift, Munich/Berlin. The International Critical Commentary of the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, Edinburgh. Inscriptiones Latinae Christianae Veteres, ed. E. Diehl, Berlin. Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, ed. H. Dessau, Berlin. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum, Münster. Journal of Biblical Literature, Philadelphia, Pa., then various places. Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Berlin. Journal of Early Christian Studies, Baltimore. The Journal of Ecclesiastical History, London. Journal of Jewish Studies, London. Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie, Kassel. Jahrbücher für protestantische Theologie, Leipzig/Freiburg i.B. Jewish Quarterly Review, Philadelphia. Journal of Roman Studies, London. Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period, Leiden. Journal of the Society of Oriental Research, Chicago. Journal of Theological Studies, Oxford. Kommentar zu den apostolischen Vätern, Göttingen. Kerk en Theologie, ’s Gravenhage. Kirchliches Jahrbuch für die evangelische Kirche in Deutschland, Gütersloh. The Loeb Classical Library, London/Cambridge, Mass. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, ed. P. Schaff and H. Wace, Buffalo/New York. Library of Fathers of the Holy Catholic Church, Oxford. H.G. Liddell and R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, new (9th) edn H.S. Jones, Oxford. Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, Freiburg i.B. Septuagint. Moyen-Âge, Brussels. Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua, London. J.D. Mansi, Sacrorum conciliorum nova et amplissima collectio, Florence, 1759-1798. Reprint and continuation: Paris/Leipzig, 1901-1927. Münsterische Beiträge zur Theologie, Münster.

Abbreviations

MCom MGH ML MPG MSR MThZ Mus NA28 NGWG NH(M)S NIV NKJV NovTest NPNF NRSV NRTh NTA NT.S NTS NTTSD OBO OCA OCP OECS OLA OLP Or OrChr OrSyr PG PGL PL PLRE PLS PO PRE PS PTA PThR PTS PW QLP QuLi RAC RACh

XI

Miscelanea Comillas, Comillas/Santander. Monumenta germaniae historica. Hanover/Berlin. Mediaevalia Lovaniensia, Louvain. See PG. Mélanges de science religieuse, Lille. Münchener theologische Zeitschrift, Munich. Le Muséon, Louvain. Nestle-Aland, Novum Testamentum Graece, 28th edition, Stuttgart. Nachrichten der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. Nag Hammadi (and Manichaean) Studies, Leiden. New International Version. New King James Version. Novum Testamentum, Leiden. See LNPF. New Revised Standard Version. Nouvelle Revue Théologique, Tournai/Louvain/Paris. Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen, Münster. Novum Testamentum Supplements, Leiden. New Testament Studies, Cambridge/Washington. New Testament Tools, Studies and Documents, Leiden/Boston. Orbis biblicus et orientalis, Freiburg, Switz., then Louvain. Orientalia Christiana Analecta, Rome. Orientalia Christiana Periodica, Rome. Oxford Early Christian Studies, Oxford. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, Louvain. Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica, Louvain. Orientalia. Commentarii editi a Pontificio Instituto Biblico, Rome. Oriens Christianus, Leipzig, then Wiesbaden. L’Orient Syrien, Paris. Migne, Patrologia, series graeca. A Patristic Greek Lexicon, ed. G.L. Lampe, Oxford. Migne, Patrologia, series latina. The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, ed. A.H.M. Jones et al., Cambridge. Migne, Patrologia, series latina. Supplementum ed. A. Hamman. Patrologia Orientalis, Paris. Paulys Realenzyklopädie der classischen Alterthumswissenschaft, Stuttgart. Patrologia Syriaca, Paris. Papyrologische Texte und Abhandlungen, Bonn. Princeton Theological Review, Princeton. Patristische Texte und Studien, Berlin. Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, ed. G. Wissowa, Stuttgart. Questions liturgiques et paroissiales, Louvain. Questions liturgiques, Louvain. Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana, Rome. Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, Stuttgart.

XII RAM RAug RBen RB(ibl) RE

Abbreviations

Revue d’ascétique et de mystique, Paris. Recherches Augustiniennes, Paris. Revue Bénédictine, Maredsous. Revue biblique, Paris. Realencyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche, founded by J.J. Herzog, 3e ed. A. Hauck, Leipzig. REA(ug) Revue des études Augustiniennes, Paris. REB Revue des études byzantines, Paris. RED Rerum ecclesiasticarum documenta, Rome. RÉL Revue des études latines, Paris. REG Revue des études grecques, Paris. RevSR Revue des sciences religieuses, Strasbourg. RevThom Revue thomiste, Toulouse. RFIC Rivista di filologia e d’istruzione classica, Turin. RGG Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. Gunkel-Zscharnack, Tübingen RHE Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, Louvain. RhMus Rheinisches Museum für Philologie, Bonn. RHR Revue de l’histoire des religions, Paris. RHT Revue d’Histoire des Textes, Paris. RMAL Revue du Moyen-Âge Latin, Paris. ROC Revue de l’Orient chrétien, Paris. RPh Revue de philologie, Paris. RQ Römische Quartalschrift, Freiburg i.B. RQH Revue des questions historiques, Paris. RSLR Rivista di storia e letteratura religiosa, Florence. RSPT, RSPh Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques, Paris. RSR Recherches de science religieuse, Paris. RTAM Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale, Louvain. RthL Revue théologique de Louvain, Louvain. RTM Rivista di teologia morale, Bologna. Sal Salesianum, Roma. SBA Schweizerische Beiträge zur Altertumswissenschaft, Basel. SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien, Stuttgart. ScEc Sciences ecclésiastiques, Bruges. SCh, SC Sources chrétiennes, Paris. SD Studies and Documents, ed. K. Lake and S. Lake. London/Philadelphia. SE Sacris Erudiri, Bruges. SDHI Studia et documenta historiae et iuris, Roma. SH Subsidia Hagiographica, Brussels. SHA Scriptores Historiae Augustae. SJMS Speculum. Journal of Mediaeval Studies, Cambridge, Mass. SM Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des Benediktinerordens und seiner Zweige, Munich. SO Symbolae Osloenses, Oslo. SP Studia Patristica, successively Berlin, Kalamazoo, Leuven. SPM Stromata Patristica et Mediaevalia, ed. C. Mohrmann and J. Quasten, Utrecht.

Abbreviations

SQ SQAW SSL StudMed SVigChr SVF TDNT TE ThGl ThJ ThLZ ThPh ThQ ThR ThWAT ThWNT ThZ TLG TP TRE TS TThZ TU USQR VC VetChr VT WBC WUNT WZKM YUP ZAC ZAM ZAW ZDPV ZKG ZKTh ZNW ZRG ZThK

XIII

Sammlung ausgewählter Quellenschriften zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte, Tübingen. Schriften und Quellen der Alten Welt, Berlin. Spicilegium Sacrum Lovaniense, Louvain. Studi Medievali, Turin. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae, Leiden. Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, ed. J. von Arnim, Leipzig. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Grand Rapids, Mich. Teologia espiritual, Valencia. Theologie und Glaube, Paderborn. Theologische Jahrbücher, Leipzig. Theologische Literaturzeitung, Leipzig. Theologie und Philosophie, Freiburg i.B. Theologische Quartalschrift, Tübingen. Theologische Rundschau, Tübingen. Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament, Stuttgart. Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, Stuttgart. Theologische Zeitschrift, Basel. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae. Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association, Lancaster, Pa. Theologische Realenzyklopädie, Berlin. Theological Studies, New York and various places; now Washington, DC. Trierer theologische Zeitschrift, Trier. Texte und Untersuchungen, Leipzig/Berlin. Union Seminary Quarterly Review, New York. Vigiliae Christianae, Amsterdam. Vetera Christianorum, Bari (Italy). Vetus Testamentum, Leiden. Word Biblical Commentary, Waco. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, Tübingen. Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, Vienna. Yale University Press, New Haven. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum, Berlin. Zeitschrift für Aszese und Mystik, Innsbruck, then Würzburg. Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, Giessen, then Berlin. Zeitschrift des Deutschen Palästina-Vereins, Leipzig. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, Gotha, then Stuttgart. Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie, Vienna. Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche, Giessen, then Berlin. Zeitschrift für Rechtsgeschichte, Weimar. Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche, Tübingen.

LITURGICA, TRACTATUS

SYMBOLI

Beyond Diabasis Alone: Philo’s Alternative Liturgical Theology of Pascha and Early Christian Computus Maria Theotokos ADAMS, SSVM, The Catholic University of America, Washington, DC, USA

ABSTRACT Drawing on Philo of Alexandria and the Stoic tradition, Origen famously promoted διάβασις (diabasis, ‘crossing’) as the correct etymology for πάσχα (pascha). While this view was readily accepted by other early Christian authors including Eusebius of Caesarea, Gregory Nazianzus, Jerome, Maximus of Turin, and Augustine, Philo equally used διαβατήρια (diabateria, ‘sacrifice before a crossing’) to describe the feast in his later work. His choice of this expression suggests a daring Classical allusion to Spartan practice which recasts the two poles of the Exodus events – sacrifice and passage – into a new harmonic whole. The writings of Anatolius of Laodicea and Eusebius of Caesarea demonstrate how the alternative etymology διαβατήρια found favor within the context of the technical and theological challenges of paschal computus. By invoking the antiquity and authority of Philo and earlier Hellenistic Jewish scholars, these Christian liturgistbishops may have sought a balanced solution for πάσχα by distinguishing and linking the sacrifice of 14 Nisan (διαβατήρια) and subsequent victorious passage on ‘the third day’ (διάβασις).

The preeminent Hellenistic Jewish author Philo of Alexandria (ca. 20 BC – ca. 49 AD) composed numerous works interpreting the history and liturgical rites of Israel through Greek language and philosophy. When describing the annual feast of πάσχα, he alternates between two expressions: διάβασις and διαβατήρια. He consistently explains the meaning of πάσχα as διάβασις, or ‘passage’ in his early allegorical commentaries.1 By contrast in his later works, he 1 Legum allegoriarum, libri i-iii, ed. L. Cohn, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 1 (Berlin, 1896 [1962]), 61-169; iii, §94 (flight from Egypt, ref. Num. 9:6ff); iii, §154 (asceticism of the ‘loins girt’ Ex. 12:11); iii, §165 (passage from passions); De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini, ed. L. Cohn, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 1 (Berlin, 1896 [1962]), 202-57; §63, line 4 (‘loins girt’), §63, line 9 (‘in haste’ Ex. 12 :11); Quis rerum divinarum heres sit, ed. P. Wendland, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 3 (Berlin, 1898 [1962]), 1-71; §255; De congressu eruditionis gratia, ed. P. Wendland, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 3 (Berlin, 1898 [1962]), 72-109; §106, line 3 (explicit etymological reference for ‘spiritual Πάσχα’); two later works also use διάβασις: De providentia, ed. F.H. Colson, Philo, Vol. 9 (Cambridge, MA,

Studia Patristica CXXV, 3-13. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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M.T. ADAMS

adopts the uncommon expression διαβατήρια, meaning ‘sacrifices offered before a crossing’.2 Eventually Christian authors from the Alexandrian School also integrate these two interpretations for πάσχα into their own work, sometimes favoring one term over the other. What is the difference between διάβασις and διαβατήρια?3 What does their usage in sacred and secular texts reveal about the allusions Philo is invoking? How did later Christian authors emphasize different aspects of πάσχα by their use of these terms? a. διάβασις The term διάβασις is found in eleven passages of the Septuagint.4 Nine times it indicates ‘the passage’ or ‘crossing’ of the River Jordan.5 The other two instances apply to highly significant moments in Israel’s history: (1) to describe Jacob’s crossing of the Jabbok to the place where he wrestled with the angel until dawn (LXX Gen. 32:23) (2) to allude to the crossing of the Red Sea in the Exodus in a litany of divine wonders (LXX Isa. 51:10). These eleven exemplars are significant since the Alexandrian Greek Hebrew Bible enjoyed nearly universal use by Hellenistic Jewish authors of Philo’s generation,6 and he himself explicitly favored the Septuagint for his own commentaries.7 Philo’s use of διάβασις for πάσχα depicts the feast as a miraculous water-crossing event, in the 1941, 1967), 454-506; Fragment 2, §27; De specialibus legibus, libri i-iv, ed. L. Cohn, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 5 (Berlin, 1906 [1962]), 1-265; ii, §147. 2 De vita Mosis, libri i-ii, ed. L. Cohn, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 4, (Berlin, 1902 [1962]), 119-268; ii, §224 (about the date for the Πάσχα); ii, §227 (the sacrifice); ii, 228 (the law of the sacrifice); ii, §233 (sacrifice); De specialibus legibus, ii, §41 (feast identified with the name Πάσχα); ii, §145 (etymology); ii, §147 (spiritualized, related to the pain of διάβασις); ii, §150 (practice of the azymes). 3 Scholarship on this question has frequently ignored the difference of terms and simply conflated the two terms in order to contrast ‘διάβασις/διαβατήρια’ with additional alternative meanings for πάσχα like ‘ὑπερβασία/ ὑπέρβασις’ found in Aquila and Josephus respectively, or with ‘πάσχειν/ pati/passio’. See Raniero Cantalamessa, La pascua de nuestra salvación: las tradiciones pascuales de la biblia y de la iglesia primitiva (Bogotá, 2007), 65-6. Ruth Clements, ‘Peri Pascha: Passover and the Displacement of Jewish Interpretation within Origen’s Exegesis’, Unpublished Dissertation (Cambridge, MA, 1997), 232. Christine Mohrmann, ‘Pascha, Passio, Transitus’, in Études sur le latin des chrétiens, T. 1 (Rome, 1958), 205-22. 4 Septuaginta: Id est Vetus Testamentum graece ixuta LXX interpretes, ed. A. Rahlfs (Stuttgart, 2006); henceforth ‘LXX’ before cited books of the Bible. 5 LXX Josh. 2:7; 2:10; 4:8; LXX Judg. 3:28; 12:5, 6; LXX 1Sam. 14:4; LXX 2Sam. 19:18; LXX Jer. 28:32. 6 Nicholas de Lange, ‘The Celebration of the Passover in Graeco-Roman Alexandria’, in Christophe Batsch and Mădălina Vârteganu-Joubert (eds), Manières de penser dans l’Antiquité méditerranéenne et orientale (Leiden, 2009), 157-66, 159, 163-4. 7 De vita Mosis ii.31-40; Maren Niehoff, Philo of Alexandria: An Intellectual Biography (New Haven, 2018), 177, 213; Alan Mendelson, Secular Education in Philo of Alexandria (Cincinnati, 1982), xviii.

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literal sense. The word choice conforms safely to Septuagint precedents – a fact which stands in striking contrast to his later use of διαβατήρια which never appears at all. Beyond the literal, Philo applies the ideals of the ‘passage beyond the passions’ in Platonic, Pythagorean and Stoic philosophy to the feast of πάσχα.8 In De congressu eruditionis gratia he clearly states that the meaning of the ‘spiritual Passover’ (τὸ ψυχικὸν πάσχα) is διάβασις, signifying ‘passage from all passions’.9 Likewise in Legum allegoriae and De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini he develops an interpretation of the body’s victory over its passions in terms of the injunctions in Exodus 12:11 to ‘gird your loins’.10 He also applies the Exodus command to eat as one ‘in haste’ to the ascetical efforts of the mind against the passions in De migratione Abrahami, Quis rerum divinarum heres sit, and again further on in De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini.11 Origen popularized Philo’s use of διάβασις to explain the meaning of πάσχα against the claims that it was derived from πάσχειν, ‘to suffer’. His influence reached many third-century Greek Christian authors and subsequent Latin circles as well. In Peri Pascha, Origen complains that many Christians – ‘indeed nearly all’ – are attributing a false etymology to the word πάσχα since they imagine it to be associated with ‘the suffering of the savior’ and the verb πάσχειν.12 As one having experience, Origen warns that contemporary Hebrews were liable to ridicule anyone holding that etymology as ‘one knowing nothing’.13 Instead, he claims that the transliteration πάσχα resulted from the Hellenistic inability to aspirate properly the original Hebrew word which should 8

M. Niehoff, Philo (2018), 93-108, 192-208, 220-1; Erich S. Gruen, ‘Jewish Literature and the Second Sophistic’, in Constructs of Identity in Hellenistic Judaism, Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies 29 (Berlin, 2016), 487-503, 489-90. 9 De congressu eruditionis gratia, §106: τοῦτ’ ἐστὶ κυρίως εἰπεῖν τὸ ψυχικὸν Πάσχα, ἡ παντὸς πάθους καὶ παντὸς αἰσθητοῦ διάβασις πρὸς τὸ δέκατον, ὃ δὴ νοητόν ἐστι καὶ θεῖον· De congressu eruditionis gratia, ed. P. Wendland, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 3 (Berlin, 1898; 1962), 72-109. 10 LXX Ex. 12:11, ὀσφῦς περιεζῶσθαι. Legum allegoriarum, III, §154 ; De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini, §63. 11 LXX Ex. 12:11, μετὰ σπουδῆς. De migratione Abrahami, §25, 151 ; Quis rerum divinarum heres sit, §255 ; De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini, §63. Philo extends ‘haste’ to the manner of sacrifice as well. 12 Peri Pascha, I, 5-10. Οἱ μὲν γὰρ πλεῖστοι τῶν ἀδ[ελ]φῶν, τάχα δὲ καὶ οἱ πάντ[ες], τὴν ὀνομασίαν λαμβάνο[υσι]ν τοῦ πάσχα παρὰ τὸ πάθο[ς το]ῦ σ(ωτῆ)ρ(ο)ς κεκλῆσθαι τῷ ὀνόματι τοῦ πάσχα. Octave Guéraud and Pierre Nautin, Origène: Sur la Pâque (Paris, 1979), 154. 13 Peri Pascha, I, 32-37, II 1-4. O. Guéraud and P. Nautin, Origène: Sur la Pâque (1979), 154, 156. See Harald Buchinger, Pascha bei Origenes (Innsbruck, 2005), ii, 399; Nicholas De Lange, Origen and the Jews. Studies in Jewish-Christian Relations in Third-Century Palestine (Cambridge, 1976), 95. Ruth Clements also notes that ‘this type of argument using the derivation of the spelling of Pascha from a Hebrew root could easily have evolved as a technique for dispute against Christian claims about the meaning and significance of the Pascha, especially in a social context like Caesarea, where, as we have noted, rabbinic culture wrote in Hebrew, but often taught in Greek’. ‘Passover and the Displacement’ (1997), 226.

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have been rendered as φασὲκ.14 He then concludes by explaining that πάσχα means ‘passage’ (διάβασις), suggesting both the crossing of the Red Sea and the Stoic ‘passage from the passions’ as developed allegorically by Philo.15 Many subsequent Latin authors promulgated this view by rendering διάβασις as transitus, including Jerome,16 Augustine,17 and Maximus of Turin.18 Nevertheless we should note that among those who held the etymology of πάσχα from πάσχειν we find such prominent early Greek Christian figures as Melito of Sardis,19 Irenaeus,20 and the author known as pseudo-Hippolytus,21 as well as Origen’s great enemy, the Gnostic Heracleon.22 b. διαβατήρια Beyond διάβασις alone, Philo also employs the term διαβατήρια for the meaning of πάσχα an almost equal number of times. He uses it eight times in two of his important later works, De vita Mosis,23 and De specialibus legibus,24 14 Peri Pascha, I, 10-32. O. Guéraud and P. Nautin, Origène: Sur la Pâque (1979), 154. This explanation may have come to Origen from a 3rd-century Jewish argument against the validity of the Septuagint. Both Philo and passages of the LXX demonstrate awareness of the two transliterations: φασὲκ and πάσχα. In Legum allegoriae, III 94-5 Philo uses the two terms to distinguish between the ‘first Passover’ (Φασὲκ) and the ‘second Passover’ (Πάσχα) according to Num. 9:6. By contrast, Φασὲκ is used to designate the ‘second Passover’ in LXX 2Chronicles 30, while maintaining πάσχα consistently throughout Exodus and elsewhere. 15 On a recent proposal for Origen’s use of διαβαίνειν / ‘the διάβασις motif’ as derived from Philo, see Michael B. Clover, ‘A New Fragment of Philo’s Quaestiones In Exodum in Origen’s Newly Discovered Homilies On The Psalms? A Preliminary Note’, in David T. Runia, Gregory E. Sterling, Sarah J. K. Pearce and Michael Cover (eds), The Studia Philonica Annual XXX, 2018, Studies in Hellenistic Judaism (Atlanta, 2018), 15-29, 19-21. 16 Jerome, Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, IV 25, 6; ed. Émile Bonnard, SC 259 (Paris, 1979 [2013]), 214. Of note here, Jerome claims to be citing transitus as a Jewish explanation of the term ‘pascha’ but the expression is used in the context of the Lord ‘passing over’ the homes in Egypt, not crossing the sea. Dicamus aliquid quod forsitan lectori utile sit. Traditio Iudaeorum est Christum media nocte venturum, in similitudinem Aegypti temporis, quando pascha celebratum est, et exterminator venit, et Dominus super tabernacula transit, et sanguine agni postes nostrarum frontium consecrati sunt. 17 Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos 120, 6, ed. E. Dekkers and J. Fraipont, CChr.SL 40 (Turnhout, 1956 [1990]), 1791, and Tractatus in evangelium Iohannis, 55, 1, ed. R. Willems, CChr.SL 36 (Turnhout, 1954 [1990]), 463-4. 18 Maximus of Turin, Sermones, 54, 1, ed. A. Mutzenbecher, CChr.SL 23 (Turnhout, 1962), 218. 19 Melito of Sardis, De Pascha, §46, ed. O. Perler, SC 123 (Paris, 1966), 84. 20 Irenaeus, Adversus haereses, IV 10, 1, eds. A. Rousseau, B. Hemmerdinger, C. Mercier and L. Doutreleau, SC 100 (Paris, 1965 [2006]), 492. 21 Pseudo-Hippolytus, Homilia in sanctum Pascha, 49, ed. P. Nautin, SC 27 (Paris, 1950 [2003]), 175. 22 Origen, Commentary on John, X 117, ed. Cécile Blanc, SC 157 (Paris, 1970 [2006]), 452. 23 De vita Mosis, ii, 224; ii, 227; ii, 228; ii, 233. 24 De specialibus legibus, ii, 41; ii, 145; ii, 147; ii, 150.

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and once in his earlier text Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum.25 In De vita Mosis the term is used in Chapter 41 which is dedicated to a detailed discussion of the moon, the equinox, and the precise calculation of πάσχα on 14 Nisan for the slaughter of the lambs.26 Philo uses διαβατήρια four times to describe the πάσχα in Book II of De specialibus legibus in the detailed descriptions of the Jewish feasts. There he uses it in the four following ways: twice as etymology for πάσχα, once in relation to the Azymes,27 and once to describe a spiritualized quality of pain as related to διάβασις.28 All of these uses are puzzling since διαβατήρια, ‘sacrifices offered before crossing the border’,29 stands out as a very uncommon Greek word charged with allusions to ancient and contemporary pagan augury.30 The historians Thucydides (460-395 BC) and Xenophon (430-354 BC) employ the expression διαβατήρια only to refer to the Spartan military practice of 25 Quaest. in Exodum, I, 4. M. Niehoff, Philo (2018), ‘Appendix I: Philo’s Dates and Works’, 245-6. 26 De vita Mosis, ii. Cap XLI is dedicated to a discussion of the moon, the equinox, and the calculations for 14 Nisan. See Mosis, ii, 224 (about the date for the Πάσχα); ii, 227 (the sacrifice); ii, 228 (the law of the sacrifice); ii, 233 (sacrifice). 27 De specialibus legibus, ii, 41 (feast identified with the name Πάσχα); ii, 145 (etymology); ii, 150 (practice of the azymes). 28 De specialibus legibus, ii, 147 (spiritualized, related to the pain of διάβασις). Françoise Petit has drawn attention to the contrasting usage of διάβασις for allegory, with the term διαβατήρια to express a more ‘rigorous’ understanding of the feast (‘Διαβατήρια semble bien l’interprétation rigoureuse, διάβασις n’étant qu’une extension de vocabulaire pour faciliter l’exégèse allégorique’). Quaestiones in Genesim et in Exodum: fragmenta graeca, Les Œuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie 33 (Paris, 1978), 234, note c. Problematically Petit also proposes that the thematic primacy of διαβατήρια in Vita Mosis and De specialibus legibus was a chronological one, such that Philo ‘replaced’ διαβατήρια with διάβασις when he composed Legum allegoriae and De migratione Abrahami. However, this dating of Philo’s works inverts contemporary research which place the allegorical writings during Philo’s early period (10-35AD), and the more historical and ‘rigorous’ works during the later period (40-49 AD) after his years in Rome for the embassy to Gaius on behalf of the Alexandrian Jews (38-39AD). M. Niehoff, Philo (2018), 245-6. 29 The Online Liddell-Scott-Jones Greek-English Lexicon (LSJ) Entries 25404-25406 of 119556: offerings before crossing the border, also, for crossing a river. 30 The large body of Greek papyri describing hieroskopy or extispicy (examination of entrails for divination) found in Roman Egypt support the prominence of the practice during the lifetime of Philo and later. Fursey and Gysembergh have proposed ‘that the Greeks did indeed learn hepatoscopy from their Eastern neighbors [Akkadian tradition], but modified the terminology (a) over time (b) in accordance with influential models such as medicine/anatomy and astrology, which were strongly developed in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt’. William D. Furley and Victor Gysembergh, Reading the Liver: Papyrological Texts on Ancient Greek Extispicy (Tübingen, 2015), 13, 29. Additionally, in De specialibus legibus i, 212, 218-9, Philo discusses the anatomical qualities of the animal-victim liver within the context of the Jewish deliverance-sacrifice (σωτήριος) while also incorporating passages from Plato’s Timeaus, 71-2, concerning the role of the human liver for the formation of dreams. Philo extends the function of the human liver ‘as a mirror’ for the mind to prophesize (προφητεύῃ) through dreams, a matter akin to divination. Nevertheless, also Philo enumerates in detail various kinds of pagan augury that Moses allegedly forbade, De spec leg, i, 60.

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animal sacrifice for divination.31 The military leader himself must officiate over the διαβατήρια to ascertain whether or not the time is propitious to cross a border during a military campaign (their own border or that of their adversary).32 As a mercenary cavalryman under the Spartan general Agesilaus, Xenophon records witnessing a favorable διαβατήρια ahead of their victory in the Asian campaign.33 Within his elite Hellenistic education, Philo certainly read not only the description of the Spartans from Thucydides and Xenophon,34 but possibly even Xenophon’s Lacedaemoniorum Republica, on the theme of Spartan government.35 Philo could also have been willing to engage with διαβατήρια on account of the strange urban legend that Spartans and Jews were distantly related. This genealogical rumor circulated not only through the purported ‘Letter of Arius to Onias’ in the Maccabean tradition,36 but also from the earlier depictions by Hecataeus of the austere Alexandrian Jews – a characterization possibly shaped by Jewish authorities themselves as Erich Gruen has suggested.37 But how does 31 Thucydides, Historiae, V 54.2; V 55.3; V 116.1; ed. H.S. Jones and J.E. Powell, Thucydidis historiae, 2 vol. (Oxford, 1970); Xenophon, Hellenica, III 4.3; III 5.7; IV 7.2; V 1.33; V 3.14; V 4.37; V 4.47; VI 5.12; ed. E.C. Marchant, Xenophontis opera omnia, vol. 1 (Oxford, 1968). See Michael Attyah Flower, ‘6: A Dangerous Profession: The Seer in Warfare’, in The Seer in Ancient Greece (Berkley, Los Angeles, CA, 2008), 153-87; on the distinction between types of battlefield sacrifices ἱερά (hiera, sacred things) and σφάγια (sphagia, victims, offerings), 159-65, on Spartan practice reported in Xenophon, 173-6. 32 Matthew Dillon, Omens and Oracles: Divination in Ancient Greece (New York, 2016), 227-8. 33 Xenophon, Hellenica, III 4.3. Agesilaus is portrayed as a pious military leader who specifically makes διαβατήρια at the border in addition to the regular sacrifices, while also piously wishes to offer sacrifice at Aulis where Agamemnon had sacrificed before setting sail for Troy. 34 Philo also most certainly read Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics II 9 which is dedicated to a lengthy criticism of Spartan government based on that very reportage. Harry Wolfson, Philo: Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity and Islam in Two Volumes, 4th printing rev. (Cambridge, MA, 1968), Chapter ‘Political Theory’ vol. II, 322-438, 352-5. 35 H. Wolfson, Philo (1968), II 485. Lacedaemoniorum Republica, VIII 5 (on divine approval for laws made by men versus prophecy); Cyropaedia I 6, 19 (allusion to definition of hope); Memorabilia VI 3, 11-2 (on types of prophecy). 36 1Macc. 12:20-3; 2Macc. 5:9. Ory Amitay, ‘The Correspondence in I Maccabees and the Possible Origins of the Judeo-Spartan Connection’, Scripta Classica Israelica 32 (2013), 79-105; Jan Willem van Henten, The Maccabean Martyrs As Saviours of the Jewish People: A Study of 2 and 4 Maccabees, Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 57 (Leiden, 1997), 223-4, 223 n. 172. 37 ‘The Diaspora Jews themselves may have had a hand in molding even the nontraditional parts of the story, thereby to have a better fit with the cultural milieu in which they found themselves. It would be a gross error to assume that Jewish intellectuals adhered rigidly to the Exodus tale as it appears in the Bible and that departures from it represent manipulation by Gentiles. Variants on the story may in fact owe more to Jewish ingenuity than we customarily allow’; Erich Gruen, ‘The Use and Abuse of the Exodus Story’, in Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition (Berkeley, CA, 1988), 41-72, 52-4; Paula Fredriksen, ‘Judaizing the Nations: The Ritual Demands of Paul’s Gospel’, New Testament Studies 56 (2010), 232-52, 236. See also

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the interpretatio graeca function to allow Philo to go so far as to align the most central Jewish feast with a Spartan military practice of pagan divination? c. A new vision of διαβατήρια I would like to suggest that Spartan διαβατήρια can fit quite well as an analogy for the Exodus narrative and its subsequent memorial.38 Διαβατήρια describes a sacred rite which is distinct from and yet anticipatory of διάβασις, passing a national frontier. The three main elements of διαβατήρια are a concern for timeliness in the water crossing, the presence of pious military leadership, and an underlying confidence in divine providence over historic events. If these are applied to the Exodus narrative, we easily decipher an analogy between διαβατήρια and the sacrifice of the paschal lambs on 14 Nisan as a blessing which not only protected the Hebrews from the death of the first-born but also launched the events of their escape from Egypt. First, Exodus 12:40-1 emphasizes the miraculous timeliness of the event in military language: ‘The time the Israelites had stayed in Egypt was four hundred and thirty years. At the end of four hundred and thirty years, on this very date, all the armies of the LORD left the land of Egypt’.39 We might ask ‘why now and not before? or not later?’ Secondly, διαβατήρια invokes the language of a military expedition lead by the great general Moses who – like the Spartan law-giver Lycurgus40 – first calls for the sacrifice and then interprets the divine favor. Thirdly, διαβατήρια aligns with διάβασις by portraying both the blood sacrifice and the victorious passage of the Red Sea in terms of divine providence

E. Gruen, ‘The purported Jewish-Spartan affiliation’, in R.W. Wallace and E.M. Harris (eds), Transitions to Empire: Essays in Greco-Roman History 360-146 B.C. in Honor of E. Badian (Norman, OK, 1996), 254-69. 38 Scholars of Philo have generally overlooked the Spartan origins of the term and considered it to be merely a Philonic synonym to διάβασις, Folker Siegert, ‘Philo and the New Testament’, in Adam Kamesar (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Philo (Cambridge, 2009), 175-209, 203. ‘The English term “Passover” for the Hebrew word pesah (or, as the New Testament texts transcribe its Aramaic equivalent, pascha) corresponds to the Philonic term diabatēria, which Philo and others employed to render pesah after the time of the Septuagint’. 39 New American Bible (NAB). 40 Philo demonstrates awareness of the Spartan law-giver Lycurgus by name in Quod omnis probus liber sit, ed. L. Cohn and S. Reiter, Philonis Alexandrini opera quae supersunt, vol. 6 (Berlin, 1915 [1962]), 1-45; §47 and 114. Additionally, Louis H. Feldman has pointed out how Josephus models his biography of Moses in parallel to Lycurgus, and Steve Mason has drawn attention to Josephus’ depictions of the Essenes in terms of Greek historians’ accounts of the Spartans. L.H. Feldman, ‘Parallel Lives of Two Lawgivers: Josephus’ Moses and Plutarch’s Lycurgus’, in J. Edmondson, S. Mason and J. Rives (eds), Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome (Oxford, 2005), 209-42; S. Mason, ‘Essenes and Lurking Spartans in Josephus’ Judean War’, in Zuleika Rodgers (ed.), Making History: Josephus and Historical Method (Leiden, 2007), 219-61, 236, 255-7.

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for historical events.41 This attention to the precise chronology of years as well as of days in the Exodus is found not only throughout the Hebrew Bible but in many Christian texts from Paul and Acts of the Apostles as well.42 Let us now see how subsequent Alexandrian Christian authors negotiated between διάβασις and διαβατήρια in their concern for paschal computus. d. Christian computus between διάβασις and διαβατήρια Scholars of early Christianity often delineate the two interpretations of πάσχα as the πάσχειν, pati, passio, on the one hand, and διάβασις, διαβατήρια, transitus, on the other.43 Some liturgists, such as Raniero Cantalamessa, have seen Philo’s use of the term διάβασις for ‘crossing’ as a way of placing greater emphasis on the Exodus action at the Red Sea (15 to 16 Nisan) over and above the sacrificial dimension (14 Nisan) in keeping with his allegorizing method of interpretation.44 Thomas Talley has also drawn attention to this shift in the understanding of the feast among ante-Nicean Alexandrians such as Clement and Origen who received Philo’s use of διάβασις. Talley notes: ‘Here the emphasis in the pascha is not on the slaying of the lamb and the marking of the doors with its blood, but on the Exodus from Egypt, the passage from slavery to freedom’.45 Jean LaPorte has even suggested that Origen’s adoption and promotion of this corrective etymology helps to refocus the Christian πάσχα away from sacrifice and more exclusively towards transformative baptism.46 While 41

In addition to Moses-Lycurgus, Philo could have been willing to align Moses with Danaeus, founder of the Spartans, according to the tradition held by Hecataeus that Danaeus left Egypt at the same time as Moses. Distant Greek-Jewish ties of kinship can also be found in the genealogical proposals made by the Jewish Hellenic historian Cleodemus Malchus that Hercules married into the family of Abraham after campaigning against Libya alongside Apher and Aphras (sons of Kettura). Robert Doran, ‘The Jewish Hellenistic Historians Before Josephus’, in Wolfgang Haase and Hildegard Temporini (eds), Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt, II 20.1 (Berlin, 1986), 246-97, 256-7. 42 ‘Four hundred (and thirty/and fifty) years in slavery’ serves as a prophecy to Abram in Genesis (Gen. 15:13-4); developed as a Pauline theme (Gal. 3:17; Acts 13:16-20); and in the speech of Stephen in Acts of the Apostles 7:6-7. 43 Christine Mohrmann, ‘Pascha, Passio, Transitus’, in Études sur le latin des chrétiens, T. 1 (1958), 205-22, 206. 44 Raniero Cantalamessa, La Pasqua nella Chiesa antica (Turin, 1978), xiii-xxx. The etymological question is treated in relation to the questions of historicization versus spiritualizing / eschatological interpretation of πάσχα. 45 Thomas Talley, ‘History and Eschatology in the Primitive Pascha’, in Maxwell Johnson (ed.), Between Memory and Hope: Readings on the Liturgical Year (Collegeville, MN, 2000), 99-109, 108. 46 Jean LaPorte, ‘Sacrifice in Origen in the Light of Philonic Models’, in Charles Kannengiesser and William Lawrence Petersen (eds), Origen of Alexandria: His World and His Legacy (Notre Dame, IN, 1988), 250-76. See J. LaPorte, ‘Models from Philo in Origen’s Teaching on Original Sin’, Laval théologique et philosophique 44 (1988), 191-203, 200-2.

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Philo’s use of διάβασις may indicate an emphasis on ‘passage’ over ‘sacrifice’, some scholars have reduced the dialectic by considering the influence of ascetic tendencies,47 while others have reduced the discussion to a mere play on words.48 In contrast to διάβασις, the term διαβατήρια is found most predominantly among bishop-scholars of the Alexandrian School who were committed to computus, the calculation of πάσχα. The two main figures are Anatolius of Laodicea (originally from Alexandria) and Eusebius of Caesarea.49 Origen does not favor διαβατήρια for πάσχα, using it only once in Contra Celsum.50 Harald Buchinger has suggested that whatever ties διαβατήρια might have had to a ‘theology of sacrifice’ (Opfertheologie) in Philo are not perceptible in Origen.51 Eusebius of Caesarea employs διαβατήρια in at least seven instances, three times in a lengthy quotation, and four times in his own original treatise on the πάσχα commonly known as De Solemnitate Paschali.52 First, he inserts into the Historia Ecclesiastica a lengthy quote from Anatolius of Laodicea’s work De ratione paschali of concerning the precise helio-lunar calculation of πάσχα.53 In the selected passage Anatolius not only uses διαβατήρια twice himself, but he even attributes the use of διαβατήρια to Aristobulus, the Jewish Alexandrian 47 Jean Daniélou proposes that despite Philo’s use of διάβασις he actually initiates the depiction of πάσχα as ‘suffering’ (πάθος) in light of the ascetic suffering valued by the Stoics; J. Daniélou, ‘Traversée de la mer Rouge et Baptême aux premiers siècles’, RSR 33 (1946), 402-30, 404. 48 Christine Mohrmann has suggested that the possible links between πάσχα and πάθος could simply be an example of Philo’s play on words, not a serious interpretation of the term πάσχα. C. Mohrmann, ‘Pascha, Passio, Transitus’, in Études sur le latin des chrétiens, T. 1 (1958), 205-22, 206, n. 4; Lester L. Grabbe, Etymology in Early Jewish Interpretation: The Hebrew Names in Philo, Brown Judaic Studies 115 (Atlanta, GA, 1988), ‘2.5 Greek Wordplay’, 43-4. 49 There are singular uses by Dionysius the Blind (also from Alexandria), Gregory Nazianzus, John Damascene, and the continuers of the Historia Ecclesiastica including Theodoret and Sozemen. 50 Contra Celsum, VIII 22. M. Niehoff observes that ‘Origen neglected Philo’s historical and more general writings, which were favored by other Christian authors with a prominent Roman orientation’, M. Niehoff, Philo (2018), 244. 51 H. Buchinger, Pascha (2005), II 404; see 2.1.2 Worterklärungen von πάσχα: διάβασις, ὑπέρβασις, διαβατήρια, for a complete treatment of these terms in Origen, 398-406. 52 Eusebius seems to be departing from the authority of Origen and undertaking an independent reading of Philo. M. Niehoff identifies Eusebius as the ‘first author who offers an overall analysis of Philo’s work’, carried out by ‘a close reading of his texts’. M. Niehoff, Philo (2018), 1. See David Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature: A Survey, Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum: Jewish Traditions in Early Christian Literature 3 (Assen, 1993), ‘Chapter Eleven: Eusebius of Caesarea’, 212-34. 53 Historia Ecclesiastica, ed. G. Bardy, Eusèbe de Césarée. Histoire ecclésiastique, Libri V-VII, SC 41, 4th ed. (Paris, 1994), henceforth ‘HE’; VII 32.14-9. Eusebius introduces Anatolius as being originally from Alexandria and widely known for his ‘learning and skill in Greek philosophy, such as arithmetic and geometry, astronomy, and dialectics in general, as well as in the theory of physics’ (HE VII 32.6). See Daniel P. McCarthy and Aidan Breen, The ante-Nicene Christian Pasch: De ratione paschali (Dublin, 2003), on the discovery of a Latin MS appearing to contain this work of Anatolius of Laodicea.

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scholar, when claiming to quote him.54 Indeed Anatolius invokes a variety of Jewish authorities to support his argument, including Philo.55 This is noteworthy since Philo’s treatments of fourteen Nisan, the full moon, and the vernal equinox mainly occur in De vita Mosis, ii, 221-228 and De specialibus legibus, ii, 145-7, where he also employs διαβατήρια to describe the πάσχα. Although the extent of the Jewish Alexandrian usage of διαβατήρια previous to Philo cannot be proven with any certainty,56 the Christian reception of Philo’s texts and the interest in finding a Jewish legacy are significant. Terms which could distinguish between the 14 Nisan sacrifice (διαβατήρια) and the 15-6 Nisan crossing of the Red Sea (διάβασις) would be valuable for the work of paschal computus. Concrete liturgical time demands not only extensive mathematical and astronomical efforts, but also a theological and exegetical underpinning. The two-fold temporal structure of πάσχα understood as both διαβατήρια and διάβασις could explain the feast as a single historical event composed to two joint miracles. Finally, Eusebius of Caesarea employs διαβατήρια four times in his own work on πάσχα, De solemnitate paschali, which comes at the end of his career, more than ten years after Nicaea in an ecclesial climate of standardizations and calendrical norms.57 He benefits from the legitimized the use of the term διαβατήρια as demonstrated by Philo and Anatolius to support ordered liturgical time.58 For Eusebius, time – in liturgical reform and in his great chronologies – is tied to historical events of the past as well as to concrete hic et nunc ecclesial gatherings which need to be announced in advance. In several instances he adapts certain passages which are otherwise nearly verbatim from Origen concerning the ‘perennial’ and ‘continual’ nature of the new Christian πάσχα (ἀεί)59 but still concludes with a reference to the weekly celebrations.60 54 HE VII 32.17. ὁ δὲ Ἀριστόβουλος προστίθησιν ὡς εἴη ἐξ ἀνάγκης τῇ τῶν διαβατηρίων ἑορτῇ μὴ μόνον τὸν ἥλιον ἰσημερινὸν διαπορεύεσθαι τμῆμα, καὶ τὴν σελήνην δέ. ‘Aristobulus adds that it is necessary for the feast of the passover, that not only the sun should pass through the equinoctial segment, but the moon also’. 55 HE VII 32.16. 56 H. Buchinger, Pascha (2005), II 404. By contrast, Clements suggests that διάβασις and διαβατήρια had usage previous to Philo. “Passover and Displacement” (1997), 230, n. 24; 232. 57  De solemnitate paschali, PG 24, 693-706, henceforth ‘DSP’. See 696 line 6, line 27; 697 line 50; 701 line 21. 58 Eusebius read and adopted texts from Philo independently from Origen’s allegorical method. Eusebius’ esteem for the later historical works and his capacity to repurpose Philo’s work has been well attested in recent scholarship. See Maren Niehoff, ‘Eusebius as a Reader of Philo’, Adamantius 21 (2015), 185-94. Justin M. Rogers, ‘Origen in the Likeness of Philo: Eusebius of Caesarea’s Portrait of the Model Scholar’, Studies in Christian-Jewish Relations 12 (2017), 1-13. 59 DSP VII (PG 24, 701 line 21), ἀεὶ τὴν πρὸς Θεὸν πορείαν στελλόμεθα, ἀεὶ τὰ διαβατήρια ἑορτάζομεν. Ταῦτα γὰρ πάντα οὐχ ἅπαξ τοῦ ἔτους πράττειν ἡμᾶς, ἀεὶ δὲ καὶ διὰ πάσης ἡμέρας ὁ εὐαγγελικὸς λόγος βούλεται. 60 DSP VII. Διὸ καὶ καθ’ ἑκάστην ἑβδομάδα τὴν τοῦ Πάσχα τοῦ ἡμετέρου ἑορτὴν κατὰ τὴν σωτήριον καὶ Κυριακὴν ἡμέραν ἐπιτελοῦμεν τοῦ ἀληθινοῦ προβάτου, δι’ οὗ ἐλυτρώθημεν, τὰ μυστήρια ἀποπληροῦντες·

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In conclusion, the unusual Spartan expression διαβατήρια comes into use alongside διάβασις when the allegorical interpretation and timelessness of the spiritual feast are being offset by a commitment to the precision of liturgical time and the quality of sacrifice. Philo’s alternative theology of πάσχα beyond διάβασις alone, gives the feast a polyvalent temporal quality: πάσχα is portrayed as both διάβασις as ‘the crossing’ (both literal and allegorical) and διαβατήρια as ‘the propitious sacrifice which launches the timing of the event’.

Liturgy in Ancient Amulets – A Part of the Conversation Nils H. KORSVOLL, University of Agder, Kristiansand, Norway

ABSTRACT Scholars have typically understood liturgical phrases and topics in ancient amulets as identity markers or as elements borrowed from public ritual to legitimize their claim to power. Recent revisions, however, both in liturgical studies and the study of ancient amulets, challenge this interpretation and its notion of a unilateral exchange from liturgy to magic. Building on these insights, I use a selection of late antique amulets from Egypt and Iraq to show how amulets in fact appear to be a part of the negotiation and development of liturgy. This observation is not only important for the study of ancient amulets, placing them within the wider developments of ritually efficacious language in Antiquity, but also for expanding the scope and source material for the study of early liturgy.

There has been a growing recognition among scholars of ancient ritual and religion that there are more intersections between liturgy and what many for convenience call ‘magic’ than earlier thought.1 Early Greek amulets show significant parallels with prayers and rites in Greco-Roman religion, and this continues in Jewish and Christian amulets from Late Antiquity.2 Roy Kotansky, for instance, argues that the prevalent use of exorcistic language and the trinitarian formula in Greco-Egyptian and later Coptic amulets ‘was intimately connected with Christian baptism and unction’,3 while J.B. Segal writes of the so-called magic bowls from Iraq that they use biblical and liturgical citations in ‘a close symbiosis of Judaism and heathen religions’.4 Moreover, much of the biblical material in the amulets appear to have been transmitted orally or reproduced 1

See David Frankfurter, ‘Ancient Magic in a New Key: Refining an Exotic Discipline in the History of Religions’, in David Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic, Religions in the Greco-Roman World 189 (Leiden, 2019), 3-20. 2 See Matthias Klinghardt, ‘Prayer Formularies for Public Recitation: Their Use and Function in Ancient Religion’, Numen 46 (1999), 1-52, 48-9; Shaul Shaked, ‘“Peace be Upon You, Exalted Angels”: on Hekhalot, Liturgy and Incantation Bowls’, Jewish Studies Quarterly 2 (1995), 197-219; David Frankfurter, ‘Spell and Speech Act: The Magic of the Spoken Word’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (2019), 608-25, 617-21. 3 Roy Kotansky, Greek Magical Amulets: The Inscribed Gold, Silver, Copper, and Bronze Lamellae. Part I: Published Texts of Known Provenance, Papyrologica Coloniensia 22 (Köln, 1994), 178. 4 J.B. Segal, Catalogue of the Aramaic and Mandaic Incantation Bowls in the British Museum (London, 2000), 26.

Studia Patristica CXXV, 15-29. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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from memory, something many scholars take to suggest it was borrowed or derived from performed liturgy.5 Theodore de Bruyn, in a recent tome on early Christian amulets from Egypt, even argues that they have ‘a symbiotic relationship with institutional rituals and practices’.6 Studies of amulets and ancient magic have conventionally considered liturgical phrases or terminology as either an evocation of public worship, in order to draw legitimacy or efficacy from this, or as a means to assert religious identity.7 The implicit or explicit implication of this interpretation has been that liturgical elements or traces reveal the religious and/or cultural belonging or identity of the amulet’s maker or user. Now, the importance of such identification springs from the notable syncretism, or multiculturalism if you will, of ancient magic.8 As in similar practises today, ancient amulets call on deities, powers and ideas from a wealth of traditions and cultures, some known and a great many more obscure to the modern scholar. Therefore, when scholars encountered the recognisable form of a liturgical term or phrase, many gratefully seized upon it to help them locate their magical artefact within a known and familiar religious and/or cultural tradition. For instance, several students of the notoriously ambiguous Syriac incantation bowls argue that Christian liturgical elements are unquestionable ‘signs of Christian background’.9 Even Victor P. Hamilton, who is otherwise hesitant to conclude on the bowls’ religious context, describes the trinitarian formula as ‘a definitive Christian reference’.10 Yet, beyond these assertions the same studies often say nothing more of the liturgical elements, thereby making them simultaneously the least studied and the most definitive indicator of religious identity in the study of ancient magic. 5 Peter T. Lanfer, ‘Why Biblical Scholars Should Study Aramaic Bowl Spells’, Aramaic Studies 13 (2015), 9-23, 15. 6 Theodore De Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian: Artefacts, Scribes, and Contexts, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2017), 184. See also Jacques van der Vliet, ‘Christian Spells and Manuals from Egypt’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (2019), 322-50. 7 M. Klinghardt, ‘Prayer Formularies’ (1999), 18-9, 26-8; R. Kotansky, Greek Magical Amulets (1994), 178; Richard Gordon, ‘Shaping the Text: Innovation and Authority in Graeco-Egyptian Malign Magic’, in H.F.J. Horstmanshoff, H.W. Singor, F.T. van Straten and J.H.M. Strubbe (eds), KYKEON: Studies in Honour of H. S. Versnel, Religions in the Greco-Roman World 142 (Leiden, 2002), 69-111. 8 See Gideon Bohak, ‘Jewish Amulets, Magic Bowls, and Manuals in Aramaic and Hebrew’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (2019), 388-415, 407-11; David Frankfurter, Christianizing Egypt: Syncretism and Local Worlds in Late Antiquity (Princeton, 2018). 9 Hannu Juusola, ‘Who Wrote the Syriac Incantation Bowls?’, Studia Orientalia 85 (1999), 75-92, 76. See also Maria Gorea, ‘Coupes magiques syriaques et manichéennes en provenance de Mésopotamie’, in Francoise Briquel Chatonnet, Muriel Debié and Alain Desreumaux (eds), Les inscriptions syriaques, Études Syriaques 1 (Paris, 2004), 107-16, 112; Lucas Van Rompay, ‘Some Remarks on the Language of Syriac Incantation Texts’, in René Lavenant (ed.), V Symposium Syriacum, 1988: Katholieke Universiteit, Leuven, 29-31 août 1988, OCA 236 (Rome, 1990), 36981, 372. 10 Victor P. Hamilton, ‘Syriac Incantation Bowls’. Ph.D. Dissertation, Brandeis University (Ann Arbor, 1971), 97.

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That is, until some scholars began taking a closer look at the liturgical elements in amulets, leading some to propose a bilateral relationship between what they found and the worship performed in synagogue or church. De Bruyn, for example, explores how amulets take up and engage with principles and sometimes theology from the early stages of liturgical development in Egypt. 11 Gideon Bohak, reputed scholar of ancient Jewish magic, similarly traces how the use and influence of elements from prayer and worship make Jewish amulets different from other, more syncretistic amulets.12 Indeed, after extensive publication on amulets and magical practices from the Near East, Shaul Shaked argues that magic and liturgy, as authoritative or efficacious language, often is so closely intertwined that they are ‘hardly distinguishable from each other’.13 Here, I develop this argument and bring together observations that show amulets to be part of the wider negotiation and development of ritual practice and efficacy in Antiquity, as opposed to earlier notions of unilateral transmission and dissemination from public rites. First, I confirm the variance in spelling and formulation of liturgical elements in amulets, but then argue that this occurs also in contemporary liturgical sources or documents. Second, I present material and studies that suggest that these phrases were used in both late antique liturgy and amulets. Finally, I argue that ritual phrases, and their implicit notions of efficacy, can be seen as part and parcel of the very act of writing, or idea of text, in Late Antiquity. Hence, instead of hunting for difference, scholars should explore these different forms of or formats for expression as parts of a common, illocutionary discourse.14 Amulets, Magic and Sources – Some Introductory Notes Although magic and the use of amulets was both prohibited and ridiculed in ancient and late antique society, the remarkable number of amulets and magical handbooks that have survived from the period suggests that such practices nevertheless were rife.15 Famously, the oldest extant quotation from the Hebrew Bible, containing the so-called priestly benediction (Num. 6:24-6), is found on two metal strips from the seventh or sixth century BC that were likely 11

T. de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian (2017). Gideon Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic: A History (Cambridge, 2008). 13 Shaul Shaked, ‘Manichaean Incantation Bowls in Syriac’, Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 24 (2000), 58-92, 69. 14 On ‘illocutionary’, see John L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words: The William James Lectures Delivered at Harvard University in 1955 (Cambridge, MA, 1962); John R. Searle, Speech Acts: An Essay in the Philosophy of Language (Cambridge, 1969); D. Frankfurter, ‘Spell and Speech Act’ (2019), 608-25. 15 See G. Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic (2008); Bernd-Christian Otto, ‘Historicizing “Magic” in Antiquity’, Numen 60 (2013), 308-47; Marvin W. Meyer and Richard Smith, Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic Texts of Ritual Power (San Francisco, 1994). 12

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amulets.16 Ancient amulets come in a range of forms and materials, adopting and adapting local practices and wider traditions in text, art and design. Yet, there are some common features, summarised in de Bruyn and Jitse H.F. Dijkstra’s descriptive definition: In the Graeco-Roman world amulets were commonly used to invoke divine power for healing from sickness, protection against harm, malediction of adversaries, and success in a variety of affairs. These amulets were prepared by specialists who often followed pre-existing models. They were rendered effective by writing, recitation, and other rituals, and were then worn on one’s body or fixed, displayed, or deposited in some place. Numerous examples of such amulets have been preserved on papyrus, parchment, potsherds (ostraka), wood, metal, stone, and other materials.17

Many scholars also emphasise the presumed rituals that accompany the amulets, and how they should be worn or where they should be placed,18 but in what follows I restrict myself to the amulets and their texts in and of themselves, without proposing a ritual context. Another, more contested term is ‘magic’. Since Edward Tylor and James Frazer’s nineteenth century, evolutionist theories of magic as primitive religion or science, through Emile Durkheim and Marcel Mauss’ somewhat later, functionalist interpretations, there continues to be a number of opinions as to how one should best approach this phenomenon.19 Currently, there are those that follow Jonathan Z. Smith in abstaining from the term, and its pejorative connotations, entirely.20 The reason being that, according to Smith, ‘for any culture I am familiar with, we can trade places between the corpus of materials conventionally labelled “magical” and corpora designated by other generic terms (e.g., healing, divining, execrative) with no cognitive loss’.21 Others choose to study ancient magic as discourse, examining cultural tropes and social power structures expressed in literary and documentary sources.22 Many scholars, 16 Gabriel Barkay, Marilyn J. Lundberg, Andrew G Vaughin, Bruce Zuckerman and Kenneth Zuckerman, ‘The Challenges of Ketef Hinnom: Using Advanced Technologies to Reclaim the Earliest Biblical Texts and Their Context’, Near Eastern Archaeology 66 (2003), 162-71. 17 Theodore de Bruyn and Jitse H.F. Dijkstra, ‘Greek Amulets and Formularies from Egypt Containing Christian Elements: A Checklist of Papyri, Parchments, Ostraka, and Tablets’, Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 48 (2011), 163-216, 164. 18 See J.B. Segal, Catalogue (2000), 25-8; P.T. Lanfer, ‘Why Biblical’ (2015), 13; David Frankfurter, ‘Magic and the Forces of Materiality’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (2019), 659-77. 19 See B.-C. Otto, ‘Historicizing’ (2013), 308-19; D. Frankfurter, ‘Ancient Magic’ (2019), 3-20; Yuval Harari, Jewish Magic before the Rise of Kabbalah, trans. Batya Stein (Detroit, 2017), 15-158. 20 See D. Frankfurter, ‘Ancient Magic’ (2019), 8-10. 21 Jonathan Z. Smith, ‘Trading Places’, in Marvin Meyer and Paul Mirecki (eds), Ancient Magic and Ritual Power, Religions in the Greco-Roman World 129 (Leiden, 1995), 13-27, 16. 22 See D. Frankfurter, ‘Ancient Magic’ (2019), 5-8; Daniel Ogden, Night’s Black Agents: Witches, Wizards and the Dead in the Ancient World (London, 2008); Kimberly B. Stratton, Naming the Witch: Magic, Ideology, and Stereotype in the Ancient World (New York, 2007).

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however, also continue to use ‘magic’, but as a heuristic category. They stress that this is a matter of convenience, referring to a relatively cohesive genre of material with a common research history, but without ascribing it significant descriptive or analytical qualities.23 In David Frankfurter’s words, ‘the term “magic” remains too vague to rely on as a genuine second-order category of description – for magic as described here essentially permeates human language, material lives, and social interactions. (…) Still, the term helped us get there’.24 I, then, ascribe to this last category, using magic to point to a set of materials and practices that scholars for some time have studied under this umbrella. However, as my introduction suggests, I follow Smith, Frankfurter and others who caution against placing a strict distinction between so-called magic and so-called religion or liturgy. The examples of late antique amulets and liturgical phrases that I explore here come from the Greek amulets and magical handbooks from Egypt25 and the socalled incantation bowls from current-day Iraq.26 Both corpora include references to and elements from Jewish and/or Christian worship, alongside much else. My examples are not necessarily representative of the corpora, but neither are they atypical. An investigation of liturgy in ancient amulets could also have included later, Coptic examples,27 or material from the Latin world,28 but for this brief essay the above two regional corpora give sufficient grounds for some preliminary observations. When I cite from an amulet, I give its inventory number and reference the publications I use for the text and its translation into a modern language. The Greek text is rendered in the Greek alphabet, omitting accents when the publication does so, as I have not consulted the artefacts themselves and do not want to alter or present a mistaken impression. Also, variation and lack of standardisation is of course the very point of my argument. For the incantation bowls, most are written in Hebrew letters, commonly considered to be Jewish, while others are written in different Syriac scripts. Yet, since all use a unique and debated Aramaic dialect, or indeed arguably dialects, I follow the current convention of presenting the original text in transliteration.29

23

See D. Frankfurter, ‘Ancient Magic’ (2019), 10-20; G. Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic (2008), 4; Michael D. Swartz, ‘Magical Piety in Ancient and Medieval Judaism’, in M. Meyer and P. Mirecki (eds), Ancient Magic and Ritual Power (1995), 167-83, 171. 24 D. Frankfurter, ‘Ancient Magic’ (2019), 20. 25 See Jacco Dieleman, ‘The Greco-Egyptian Magical Papyri’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (2019), 283-321. 26 See G. Bohak, ‘Jewish Amulets’ (2019), 394-400; Y. Harari, Jewish Magic (2017), 234-51. 27 See M.W. Meyer and R. Smith, Ancient Christian Magic (1994). 28 See Magali Bailliot, ‘Rome and the Roman Empire’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (2019), 175-97; John G. Gager, Curse Tablets and Binding Spells from the Ancient World (Oxford, 1992). 29 Marco Moriggi, A Corpus of Syriac Incantation Bowls: Syriac Magical Texts from LateAntique Mesopotamia, Magical and Religious Literature of Late Antiquity 3 (Leiden, 2014), 4.

N.H. KORSVOLL

20 1. Fluid Rituals

First, there is a growing recognition of rituals’ fluidity, questioning the idea of a fixed rite. Catherine Bell’s influential work on ritual systems contrasts the notion or ideal of continuity in ritual with the inevitability of change,30 seeing a rite not as a fixed entity but as an arena of negotiation between ritual authority and the changing conditions and concerns of its participants.31 Anthropologist Roy A. Rappaport observes that there is certainly an ideal of invariance in ritual, but this is invariably negotiated against other contextual variables such as location, participants, language, means, and so on.32 These developments within ritual theory are confirmed in studies of ancient amulets, where scholars for some time have remarked on the extensive variation in form and spelling of liturgical material. Indeed, in many amulets the spelling and formulation of liturgical elements is consistently inconsistent. For instance, de Bruyn writes of the trinitarian formula in Greco-Egyptian amulets: ‘The coordinate trinitarian formula was heard and spoken so often in Christian rituals – in salutations, invocations, doxologies, and benedictions – that it is hardly surprising that it appears with some regularity in incantations. But for that very reason it is intriguing when the phrasing of the formula is irregular’.33 One amulet that de Bruyn discusses, PGM P16.19-23/P.Ross.Georg. I 23, which also opens with a triple invocation of the ‘holy Trinity’, ἡ ἁγεία τριάς,34 closes with a doxology using an adjusted trinitarian formula, as well as the saecula saeculorum: For there is only one Lord [only one] God, in the Son [and] in the Father and the Holy Spirit, for ever and ever, amen.35 … (19) ὄτι μόνος κύριος, [μ]ό[νος (20) θεός ἐστι ἐν [υ]ἱῷ κ[αὶ (21) ἐν τῷ πατρὶ καὶ ἁγιῷ π[νεύ-(22)-ματει καὶ εἰς τοὺς ἐῶνας (23) εἰς τῶν ἐῶνας, ἀ[μήν (24) ἀμήν, [ἀ]μήν, ἀμήν.36

Alternatively, PGM P5d.1-2 (P.Lond.Lit. 231), closes with a simpler, more conventional doxology: Δόξα] τῷ πατρὶ καὶ τῷ υἱῷ [κα]ὶ τῷ ἁ[γιῷ πν]ε[ύματι (2) νῦν κα{ὶ} {ἀ}εὶ καὶ {εἰς} τοὺς αἰῶνας τ[ῶν αἰώνων…, ‘[Preis] dem Vater und dem Sohn und dem hl. Geist jetzt und immer und in Ewigkeit der Ewigkeiten…’37 Finally, PGM P15a and b includes yet another adoption to a different spell or scheme: … καὶ ἐμεν ἀπολύσατε διὰ τὴν δύναμιν τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ υἱοῦ καὶ 30

Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (Oxford, 1992), 118. Ibid. 214. 32 Roy A. Rappaport, Ritual and Religion in the Making of Humanity, Cambridge Studies in Social and Cultural Anthropology 110 (Cambridge, 1999), 32-46. 33 T. de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian (2017), 221-2. 34 Karl Preisendanz, Papyri Graecae Magicae: Die Griechischen Zauberpapyri II (Leipzig, 1931), 205. 35 T. de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian (2017), 222. 36 K. Preisendanz, Papyri Graecae Magicae (1931), 205. 37 Ibid. 194. 31

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τοῦ ἁγιοῦ πνεύματος, ἀμήν…, ‘… und erlöst mich durch die Macht des Vaters und des Sohnes und des hl. Geistes, Amen…’38 ‘Variants like this’, de Bruyn observes, ‘remind us that in the decentralized sphere of amulet production tradition is malleable, whether by intention, informality, ignorance, or carelessness’.39 Indeed, for a long time such variation was taken to show carelessness or lack of scribal skills on the part of the amulet-maker.40 Or, that they had only a distant knowledge of the rites they were copying, that the phrases had been transmitted orally and rendered by someone who did not perform or hear them regularly.41 However, I argue that this variation, as Bell or Rappaport would have it, can be seen as intentional, or perhaps informal, rather than ignorant or lacking. For instance, there is a similar degree of variation in how the saecula saeculorum is rendered in Syriac incantation bowls. This is an important phrase in both Christian and Jewish worship, and there are arguments that its prominence in the gospels and epistles reflect its liturgical significance, instead of the other way around.42 In the bowl IM 142513 it appears in its most simple form; (6) l῾lm ῾lmyn, ‘(6) forever and ever’,43 whereas it in AO 207964-O comes at the very end of the incantation, following a closing doxology: (13) … ᾿n᾿ ktbty ᾿lh᾿ n᾿s᾿ mn hš wl῾lm ᾿yn w᾿myn ᾿myn ᾿myn slḥ, ‘(13) … I wrote, God heals, from now and forever, yes and amen, amen, amen, selah’.44 My last example is from a very small fragment, 4 N 161 (Johns Hopkins Archaeological Museum), so the context of the doxology is lost, but the formula appears quite clearly, in yet another variation: (5) … [m]n ywm wmn hšt᾿ wl῾l[m] ῾l[myn]…, ‘(5) … from today and from now and forever and ever…’.45 Across the three examples here, the saecula saeculorum is recognisable as a unit, but there is variation in its wording, also in this relatively brief formula. While IM 142513 keeps the basic l῾lm ῾lmyn, ‘forever and ever’, the other incantations elaborate on it by adding ‘from now’ or ‘from today’. This could of course be due to ignorance or sloppiness, but other formulae among the amulets show an almost remarkable consistency across specimens. For instance, the Syriac opening formula mzmn hn᾿ r᾿z᾿ lḥtmt᾿ d…, ‘Prepared is this mystery for the sealing of…’,46 or

38

Ibid. 204. T. de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian (2017), 222. 40 See P.T. Lanfer, ‘Why Biblical’ (2013), 15. 41 See J.B. Segal, Catalogue (2000), 26; T. de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian (2017), 222. 42 See Huub van de Sandt and David Flusser, The Didache: Its Jewish Sources and its Place in Early Judaism and Christianity, Jewish Traditions in Early Christian Literature 5 (Minneapolis, 2002), 294-5; Lawrence J. Johnson, Worship in the Early Church: An Anthology of Historical Sources 1 (Collegeville, MN, 2009), 37. 43 M. Moriggi, A Corpus (2014), 201. 44 Ibid. 140. 45 Ibid. 102. 46 Nils H. Korsvoll, ‘Reconsidering “Christian”: Context and Categorisation in the Study of Amulets and Incantation Bowls’, Ph.D. Dissertation, MF Norwegian School of Theology (Oslo, 2017), 158-9. 39

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the centuries old flee-formula among Greco-Egyptian amulets,47 suggest that the people who were making amulets were able to reproduce and maintain fixed formulae. In fact, studies of contemporary liturgical sources observe variance or adoption akin to what we find in the amulets.48 For example, again in Syriac amulets, some trinitarian formulae only have ‘in the name of’ at the start of the invocation, while others, like Semitics/ICOR Collections H156 here, repeat it: bšwm ṣwrn {b[š]} bšwm ᾿b᾿ bšwm br᾿ [w]rwḥ᾿ ḥyt[᾿ wq]dyšt᾿ (10) hn᾿ hw ḥtm᾿{᾿} [dḥtmh ḥtm] … byt {q} mqdš᾿ ᾿myn ᾿myn… In the name of ṣwrn. In the name of the Father, in the name of the Son and the Living and Holy Spirit. (10) This is the seal which sealed it, the seal … the sanctified house. Amen, amen…49

Moreover, the formula is sometimes written in the emphatic state and other times in the construct.50 Similar variation can for instance be found in a sixth century baptismal ordo, where the formula is written sometimes in the emphatic and sometimes in the construct – and in one passage even using both states.51 Furthermore, in a survey of liturgical documents Sebastian P. Brock notes several instances of the formula that invoke ‘in the name of’ just once, while others repeat it thrice.52 He proceeds to reference Syrian church father Theodore of Mopsuestia, who discusses this variation and argues for the former since the triune God is one cause.53 Indeed, Syriac liturgy has a long tradition for elaborating the trinitarian formula,54 so the variation in the amulets does not need to signify deviancy or a lack of skill, but may rather mirror the fluid state of formulae and liturgy in Late Antiquity. 47 Roy Kotansky, ‘Incantations and Prayers for Salvation on Inscribed Greek Amulets’, in Christopher A. Faraone and Dirk Obbink (eds), Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion (Oxford, 1991), 107-37, 113-4. 48 See Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Manuscrits liturgiques en syriaque’, in Francois CassingenaTrévedy and Izabela Jurasz (eds), Les liturgies syriaques, Études syriaques 3 (Paris, 2006), 268; Christine Chaillot, ‘The Ancient Oriental Churches’, in Geoffrey Wainwright and Karen B. Westerfield Tucker (eds), The Oxford History of Christian Worship (Oxford, 2006), 134-5. 49 M. Moriggi, A Corpus (2014), 28. 50 N.H. Korsvoll, ‘Reconsidering “Christian”’ (2017), 145-51. 51 Sebastian P. Brock, ‘A New Syriac Baptismal Ordo Attributed to Timothy of Alexandria’, Le Muséon 83 (1970), 367-431. Emphatic: 374, 377, 379 and 384. Construct: 387, 389 and 390-1. Both: 381. 52 Id., ‘Studies in the Early History of the Syrian Orthodox Baptismal Liturgy’, Journal of Theological Studies N.S. 23 (1972), 16-64, 60. 53 Homily on Baptism 4, ed. Alphonse Mingana, Commentary of Theodore of Mopsuestia on the Lord’s Prayer and on the Sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist, Woodbrooke Studies 6 (Cambridge, 1933), 61-2. 54 See Sebastian P. Brock, ‘A Remarkable Syriac Baptismal Ordo: BM Add. 14518’, Parole de l’Orient 2 (1971), 365-78, 368-70; Andreas Heinz, Feste und Feiern im Kirchenjahr nach dem Ritus der Syrisch-Orthodoxen Kirche von Antiochien, SOPHIA: Quellen östlicher Theologie 31 (Trier, 1998), 101.

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In parallel, Andreas Lehnardt finds a range of versions of the above-mentioned saecula saeculorum in the Jewish prayer service Qaddish – ‘May his great name be blessed for ever and for all eternity’.55 The Qaddish is ‘said on solemn occasions in the synagogue or in prayers of commemoration of the dead’,56 and many attestations in early manuscripts show that it was well established within Jewish liturgy from an early stage.57 Its central response, the doxology, is also found in several incantation bowls, where again they maintain a recognisable form while also having differences. In CBS 2920, for instance, the phrase goes: (5) … wbyšmyh rbh dgyg(!) ᾿lh᾿ qdyš᾿ dhd šmyh…, ‘… And in the great name of the holy one, the holy God, whose name is one…’,58 whereas it in BM 139524 reads: (3) … yhy šmyh rbh dyqr᾿ (4) ᾿lh᾿ qdyš᾿ dḥd šmyh…, ‘… may his great name be (blessed) that is called the holy God, whose name is one…’.59 In his discussion of CBS 2920, Baruch A. Levine proceeds to discuss various overlaps, exchanges and variations between the bowl’s incantation and prayers both from rabbinic sources and from the Dead Sea Scrolls,60 thus demonstrating Shaked’s earlier point that these traditions intermingle and interchange. This then brings me to my second point, which is the common or shared repertoire of ritual phrases and efficacious language across different genres or arenas in Late Antiquity. 2. Shared Ritual Language Along with the recognition of fluid rituals, more scholars are acknowledging and tracing how pervasive ritual formulae and liturgical language was in Late Antiquity. Jacques van der Vliet, for instance, observe that for Coptic amulets ‘[t]he shared language of liturgy and law offered prototypes for performative speech, providing ready-made textual tropes for praying and appealing’. 61 Liturgical language permeates many Greco-Egyptian amulets, as well as the Coptic corpora.62 For instance, William M. Brashear and Kotansky remark on a recipe for an amulet in P.Berol.inv. 17202 that the incantation has the form 55 Andreas Lehnardt, Qaddish: Untersuchungen zur Entstehung und Rezeption eines rabbinischen Gebetes (Tübingen, 2002), 24 n. 39. 56 Shaul Shaked, James Nathan Ford and Siam Bhayro, Aramaic Bowl Spells: Jewish Babylonian Aramaic Bowls 1, Magical and Religious Literature of Late Antiquity 1 (Leiden, 2013), 21. 57 A. Lehnardt, Qaddish (2002), 75. 58 Baruch A. Levine, ‘The Language of the Magical Bowls’, in Jacob Neusner (ed.), A History of the Jews in Babylonia: V. Later Sasanian Times, Studia Post-Biblica (Leiden, 1970), 343-73, 353. 59 J.B. Segal, Catalogue (2000), 63-4. 60 B.A. Levine, ‘The Language’ (1970), 354-5. 61 J. van der Vliet, ‘Christian Spells’ (2019), 348. 62 See T. de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian (2017), 184-234; M. Klinghardt, ‘Prayer Formularies’ (1999), 12-3; Ágnes T. Mihálykó, ‘Christ and Charon: PGM P13 Reconsidered’, Symbolae Olsoenses 89 (2015), 183-209.

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of a kind of responsory, likely derived from liturgical antiphonies.63 P.Berlin 954, a sixth century amulet on papyrus, cites the Lord’s Prayer in a spell to ward off demonic attack: … (16) πάτερ ἡμῶν ὁ ἐν τοῖς | οὐραν[οῖς, ἁγιασθήτω] τὸ ὄνομά σου, ἐλθά|τω ἡ βα[σιλεία σ]ου, γενηθήτω τὸ θέ|λημά [σου ὡς] ἐν οὐρανῷ καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς. τὸν | ἄρτον ἡ[μῶν τὸ]ν ἐπιούσιον δὸς ἡ[μῖν || σήμερον καὶ ἄφες ἡμῖν τὰ ὀφειλ[ή|ματα ἡμῶν, [κα]θὰ καὶ ἡμεῖς ἀφείε[μεν | τοῖς ὀφει[λέταις ἡμῶν], καὶ [μὴ] ἄγε | ἡμᾶς εἰς πειρασμόν, κύριε, ἀ[λλ]ὰ ῥῦσ[αι ἡ]μᾶς ἀπὸ τῆς πονηρ[ιᾶς (17) σοῦ γαρ ἐστιν] ἡ δόξ[α εἰς || τοὺς αἰῶν[ας………] καὶ ἡ τῶν… … Our Father, who resides in the heaven[s, may] your name [be holy,] may [y]our ki[ngdom] arrive, may [your] will be done on earth [as] it is in heaven. Give u[s] today o[ur] daily bread and forgive our deb[t]s [a]s also [we] forgive those who are indebt[ted to us,] and do [not] bring us into temptation, Lord, b[ut] deliv[er] us from ev[il. For yours is] the glor[y] forev[er…] and the [?] of those [?]…64

The spell continues by citing the incipits to the gospels of John and Matthew, drawing further authority and/or efficacy from these.65 There is a similar case with the so-called angels on all sides-invocation in the Jewish incantation bowls. This invocation appears in several bowls, and it is also used in the prayer before going to sleep, sometimes called the ‘bedtime shema’. In BM 91763 it reads: … d᾿p gbry᾿l mymynyh myk᾿l (19) ml᾿kh myšm᾿lyh xxxxx᾿l mylpnyn wḥbry᾿l my᾿ḥwryn wškynty᾿l {wškynty᾿l} mlm῾lh ῾l r᾿yšyh dymḥlp᾿ br btšyty… … for, truly, Gabriel will be on the right, Michael (19) the angel on the left, el in front, Ḥabriel behind, and Šekintiel above the head of Maḥlefa son of Batšitti…66

Now, Siam Bhayro has shown that there are several layers to the interaction between liturgy and magic here. In several fascinating articles he points out parallels between the formula and a traditional, Mesopotamian invocation going back millennia.67 Bhayro then, together with Dan Levene and Dalia Marx, argues that this was a traditional formula that as time progressed was transmitted and adapted in various ritual arenas, both amulets and liturgy, because it continued to carry notions of efficacy.68 In fact, examining the structure of 63 William A. Brashear and Roy Kotansky, ‘A New Magical Formulary’, in Paul Mirecki and Marvin Meyer (eds), Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World, Religions in the Greco-Roman World 141 (Leiden, 2002), 3-24, 10-3. 64 Joseph E. Sanzo, ‘Canonical Power: A ‘Tactical’ Approach to the Use of the Christian Canon in P. Berlin 954’, Saint Shenouda Coptic Quarterly 4 (2008), 28-45, 32-3. 65 Ibid. 36-7. 66 J.B. Segal, Catalogue (2000), 83-4. 67 Siam Bhayro, ‘The Reception of Mesopotamian and Early Jewish Traditions in the Aramaic Incantation Bowls’, Aramaic Studies 11 (2013), 187-96, 189-90. 68 Dan Levene, Delia Marx and Siam Bhayro. ‘“Gabriel is on Their Right”: Angelic Protection in Jewish and Babylonian Lore’, Studia Mesopotamica 1 (2014), 185-98, 194-6.

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the prayer before going to sleep, the three scholars propose that ‘the common practice of reciting the above formula three times, already suggests that there may be an underlying magical tradition to the “Bedtime Shema”’.69 Although their wording here presupposes a distinction between magic and liturgy, their observation argues for a common tradition rather than disparate ones and thereby urges us to approach ritual transmission differently than before. And this is increasingly, as the cases above show, happening. Although studies traditionally focused on the apparent source or origin of a liturgical phrase, now they examine its use and function within the amulet(s) or tradition(s) in question. For instance, in the recipe for an amulet in P.Heid.G. 1101, de Bruyn notes how the Sanctus, which is another popular formula in Christian amulets, is embedded within the amulet’s adjuration: ‘… I adjure you by those who say, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Sabaoth the God, the God Adonai Aoth”, heal the eyes from migraine and every sort of discharge from them’,70 … ορκιζο σε κατα (6) τον λεγοντον αγιος αγιος αγιος κς Σαβαωθ ο θς … Ἀδωναει Ἀοθ (7) … θεραπευσατε οφθαλμου[ς] απο ημικρανου και παντυου ρευμα (8) τος…71 In another amulet recipe, from P.Cair. 10263, the Sanctus is, fittingly, sung by angels as Christ enters heaven, in a brief narrative element known as a historiola:72 … ὁ ἔχων (6) ἐξ εὐωνύμων μυρίους μυριάδας ἀγγέλων, ὁμοίως ἐκ δεξιῶν μυρίους μυριάδας ἀγγέλων βοῶντες (7) μιᾷ φωνῇ τρί[τ]ον ἅγιος ἅγιος ὁ βασιλεὺς τοῦ αἰῶνος, διὸ οἱ οὐρ[αν]οι ἐκορέσθησαν τῆς θειότητος αὐτοῦ… … who has (6) on his left ten thousand times ten thousand angels, likewise on his right ten thousand times ten thousand angels crying (7) with a single voice thrice: ‘Holy, holy is the king of eternity’, wherefore the heavens are full of his divinity…73

In both cases there is not only variation in the form of the formula, it is also incorporated in various, innovative ways into the structure and content of the incantation. In her edition of P.Cair. 10263 (PGM P13), Ágnes T. Mihálykó notes that the numerous biblical quotations in the papyrus seem to display ‘a deliberate variation with no other overall principle than variation itself’.74 Equally puzzled by the variance in liturgical elements, the only general observation de Bruyn is able to make from his survey of amulets with Christian content is that the

69

Ibid. 186. Theodore de Bruyn, ‘The Use of the Sanctus in Christian Greek Papyrus Amulets’, SP 40 (2006), 15-20, 17. 71 Franco Maltomini, ‘Cristo all’Eufrate P.Heid.G.1101: Amuleto cristiano’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 48 (1982), 149-70, 157. 72 T. de Bruyn, ‘The Use’ (2006), 16-8. 73 Á.T. Mihálykó, ‘Christ and Charon’ (2015), 186-7. 74 Ibid. 203. 70

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formulae in the amulets are usually simpler than in the liturgical sources.75 However, de Bruyn quickly adds that this simplicity or brevity is fairly prevalent also in liturgical sources: ‘[T]he sanctus in Egyptian anaphoras consisted of only a Christian liturgical version of Isa. 6:3 – “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Sabaoth; full are heaven and earth of your (holy) glory” (ἅγιος, ἅγιος, ἅγιος Κύριος Σαβαώθ πλήρης ὁ οὐρανὸς καὶ ἡ γῆ τῆς [ἁγίας] σου δόξης) – without the addition of the hosanna and the benedictions derived from Matt. 21:9’. 76 In the end, de Bruyn concludes that the formulae most likely did come from liturgy, but immediately cautions that one cannot know if the makers or users of the amulets had this association.77 Moreover, as the form and use of the Sanctus differs to such an extent, he notes that ‘more than one genealogy may be possible’.78 The formula is also common in Jewish amulets, where it is thought to derive from the important Qedusha prayer (Isa. 6:3).79 In one incantation bowl, number 33 in Charles D. Isbell’s corpus from 1975, it appears towards the end of the spell: (5) b[šwm q]dwš qdwš qdwš yhwh ṣb᾿wt ml᾿ kl h᾿wrṣ kbwdw ᾿myn ᾿myn, ‘(5) In [the name of h]oly holy holy YHWH of Hosts. All the earth is filled with His glory. Amen. Amen.’80 Similarly, the Shema (Deut. 6:4), thought to be among the oldest nuclei of Jewish liturgy,81 is often found at either the opening or closing of Jewish amulets.82 In the bowl HS 3027 it even appears at both beginning and end: (1) šm῾ yśr᾿l yhwh ᾿lhynw yhwh ᾿ḥd … (6) šm῾ yśr᾿l yhwh ᾿lhynw yhwh ᾿ḥd, ‘Höre, o Israel! YHWH ist unser Gott, YHWH ist der Einzige. … (6) Höre, o Israel! YHWH ist unser Gott, YHWH ist der Einzige’.83 Now, the Shema and the Qedusha are not only central formulae or prayers in Jewish liturgy, they are also widely discussed as blessings or protective invocations in rabbinic literature.84 Indeed, Stefan C. Reif proposes that the Shema 75

T. de Bruyn, Making Amulets Christian (2017), 232. Id., ‘The Use’ (2006), 16. 77 Id., Making Amulets Christian (2017), 233-4. 78 Ibid. 232. 79 S. Shaked, J.N. Ford and S. Bhayro, Aramaic (2013), 21-2; P.T. Lanfer, ‘Why Biblical’ (2013), 20. 80 Charles D. Isbell, Corpus of the Aramaic Incantation Bowls, Dissertation Series 17 (Missoula, MN, 1975), 85-6. 81 Stefan C. Reif, Judaism and Hebrew Prayer: New Perspectives on Jewish Liturgical History (Cambridge, 1993), 83. 82 James A. Montgomery, Aramaic Incantation Texts from Nippur, Publications of the Babylonian Section 3 (Philadelphia, 1913), 63; Christa Müller-Kessler, Die Zauberschalentexte in der Hilprecht-Sammlung, Jena, und weitere Nippur-Texte anderer Sammlungen, Texte und Materialien der Frau Professor Hilprecht Collection of Babylonian Antiquities im Eigentum der FriedrichSchiller-Universität, Jena 7 (Wiesbaden, 2005), 11. 83 Ibid. 9. 84 See Gideon Bohak, ‘Jewish Exorcism Before and After the Destruction of the Second Temple’, in Daniel R. Schwartz and Zeev Weiss (eds), Was 70 CE a Watershed in Jewish History? On Jews and Judaism before and after the Destruction of the Second Temple, Ancient Judaism 76

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started its liturgical career by being used ‘as some form of amulet’,85 while Michael D. Swartz points to a liturgical motif in the Piyyutim, a genre of liturgical poetry, that is ‘much more widespread in magical texts than in liturgical texts’.86 Hence, together with the angel on all sides-invocation, these observations challenge the notion of a unilateral transmission from liturgy to amulets, and instead suggest a development where terms and phrases were vehicles for ritual efficacy that travelled in either direction. 3. Formulae as a Staple of Written Expression Third, there are scholars who would extend this discussion of efficacy and authority from ritual texts, like liturgy or spells, to include all writing in Antiquity.87 I will not engage with this entire debate here, or indeed writing at large in Antiquity, but I find the pervasive use of the phrases and formulae I have discussed so far also in so-called documentary, non-ritual genres a telling indication. For instance, if we turn to the large number of colophons that have survived in Syriac manuscripts from Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages,88 these use the same acclamations and doxologies that appear in the amulets. Surveying William Wright’s catalogue of Syriac manuscripts in the British Museum, examples of this include the colophon of BL.Add. 12,133, which ends with l῾lm ῾lmyn ᾿myn, ‘forever and ever, amen’;89 the colophon of BL.Add. 14,428, which also ends with l῾lm ῾lmyn ᾿myn, ‘forever and ever, amen’;90 and the colophon of BL.Add. 17,134, which ends with ᾿b᾿ wbr᾿ wrwḥ᾿ qdyš᾿. wn᾿mr klh ῾m᾿ ᾿myn w᾿myn w᾿myn, ‘the father, the son and the holy spirit. And let him and Early Christianity 78 (Leiden, 2012), 296; S. Daniel Breslauer, ‘Secrecy and Magic, Publicity and Torah: Unpacking a Talmudic Tale’, in P. Mirecki and M. Meyer (eds), Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World (2002), 275. 85 Stefan C. Reif, Problems with Prayers: Studies in the Textual History of Early Rabbinic Liturgy, Studia Judaica 37 (Berlin, 2006), 16. 86 Michael D. Swartz, ‘The Aesthetics of Blessing and Cursing: Literary and Iconographic Dimensions of Hebrew and Aramaic Blessing and Curse Texts’, Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 5 (2005), 187-211, 190. 87 See Scott B. Noegel, ‘“Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign”: Script, Power, and Interpretation in the Ancient Near East’, in Amar Annus (ed.), Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World, Oriental Institute Seminars 6 (Chicago, 2010), 143-62; David Frankfurter, ‘The Magic of Writing in Mediterranean Antiquity’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (2019), 626-59; id., ‘The Magic of Writing and the Writing of Magic: The Power of the Word in Egyptian and Greek Traditions’, Helios 21 (1994), 189-221. 88 Marlia Mundell Mango, ‘The Production of Syriac Manuscripts, 400-700 AD’, in Guglielmo Cavallo, Giuseppe de Gregorio and Marilena Maniaci (eds), Scritture, libri e testi nelle aree provinciali di Bisanto: Atti del seminaro del Erice (Spoleto, 1991), 161-79, 164; Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Fashions in Early Syriac Colophons’, Hugoye 18 (2015), 364-70. 89 William Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum Acquired since the Year 1838 1 (London, 1870), 8. 90 Ibid. 9.

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say to all the people amen and amen and amen’.91 Indeed, Wright often simply writes in his entries that a colophon is ‘followed by the usual doxology’.92 Brock and Lucas Van Rompay record in their recent catalogue of Syriac manuscripts from Deir al-Surian several instances where the trinitarian formula or the saecula saeculorum appear, sometimes to open or close main text segments.93 In other manuscripts the doxologies separate different excerpts from the Bible, occasionally alongside a decorative border, while in a few others they even introduce curses.94 This use of or reliance on formulae is not restricted to doxologies, but appears to be a general feature of Syriac colophons – Thomas A. Carlson suggests calling the language or genre of expression ‘formulaic prose’.95 Brock, again, observes how a number of colophons in fifth to seventh century manuscripts repeat short prayer formulae like n῾bd rḥm᾿, ‘may He effect mercy’, or nšw᾿, ‘may He hold worthy’.96 Or, in a few cases the more elaborate dntḥnn bywm dyn᾿ ᾿yk d᾿tḥnn gys᾿ bzqyp᾿, ‘let the reader pray that (the scribe) may be shown pity on the day of judgement just as the thief on the cross was shown pity’, referencing Luke 23.97 Carlson in turn notes how several colophons in the eastern Syriac tradition assert that the manuscript was copied and completed ‘by the help of our Lord’, b῾wdrn mrn,98 and almost all end with bryk ᾿lh᾿ l῾lm wmšbḥ šmh ldrdryn, ‘blessed be God forever and glorified be his name to generations of generations’.99 Intriguingly, this not only demonstrates the pervasive use of formulae, but also their fluidity as Carlson notes that among the manuscripts he consults one scribe wrote wmšrḥ, ‘established’, instead of wmšbḥ, ‘glorified’.100 Expanding from colophons, Eva Riad discusses how acclamations and doxologies are common in other genres too, for instance hagiography, and she argues from this that they are integral to text and writing on the whole in the Syriac tradition.101 Short formulae or mottoes are almost banale in their ubiquity, but this does not, Riad continues, mean that we should read the formulae 91

Ibid. 337-8. Ibid. 46, 160, 206, 211, 274. 93 Sebastian P. Brock and Lucas Van Rompay, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts and Fragments in the Library of Deir al-Surian, Wadi al-Natrun (Egypt), Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 227 (Leuven, 2014), 127 (DS Syr. 22), 145 (DS Syr. 25), 153 (DS Syr. 26), 208 (DS Syr. 28), 215 (DS Syr. 29), 269 (DS Syr. 37). 94 Ibid. 5-7 (DS Syr. 1), 26-31 (DS Syr. 6), 38 (DS Syr. 7), 99 (DS Syr. 19), 126 (DS Syr. 22), 232 (DS Syr. 31). 95 Thomas A. Carlson, ‘Formulaic Prose? Rhetoric and Meaning in Late Medieval Syriac Manuscript Colophons’, Hugoye 18 (2015), 379-98, 383-7. 96 S.P. Brock, ‘Fashions’ (2015), 364-5. 97 Ibid. 364. 98 T.A. Carlson, ‘Formulaic Prose’ (2015), 387. 99 Ibid. 383. 100 Ibid. 384. 101 Eva Riad, Studies in the Syriac Preface, Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 11 (Uppsala, 1988), 131. 92

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as prose. Rather, she asserts, we must adjust our view and refrain from distinguishing between ‘one sacred and one secular literary tradition’.102 Carlson similarly argues, with a further reference to Heleen Murre-van den Berg, that the interspersion of religious or liturgical language in colophons place them in a theological context, irrespective of their worldly content: ‘This rhetoric constructs a network of invoked ideas within a communal religious framework’.103 Whether explicitly part of religious worship or not, such texts defy modern distinction between performative and documentary texts as they all witness and promote late antique notions of authority and agency in writing. Returning to Frankfurter’s study of writing and agency in Antiquity, ‘[t]he text, indeed, functions somewhere between icon and ritual utterance – in every way transcending the transcription of speech or evocation of genre that those in literate cultures associate with writing and reading’.104 Conclusion In the end there are several reasons to revise the conventional view that ancient amulets simply copied liturgical elements or phrases. Instead, we should study them as part of a wider, common illocutionary discourse in Late Antiquity, of which liturgy also is a part. In biblical studies ancient amulets are already considered relevant sources for the early development of the Bible,105 and I here present voices and further arguments to adopt this approach when it comes to liturgy as well. Swartz, again, summarises it beautifully when he describes a Qedusha in an amulet from the medieval Cairo Genizah. It, he asserts, ‘is not a direct quotation from the liturgical hymns, nor is it derived from them. Rather, motifs and phrases are common to both, suggesting that these were at hand to both the liturgist and the magician’.106 This growing recognition will then not only expand and nuance how we understand ancient amulets and their use of liturgical formulae, but it can also contribute to studies and explorations of early liturgy.

102

Ibid. 13. T.A. Carlson, ‘Formulaic Prose’ (2015), 397. 104 D. Frankfurter, ‘The Magic of Writing’ (2019), 657. 105 See P.T. Lanfer, ‘Why Biblical’ (2013); Brice C. Jones, New Testament Texts on Greek Amulets from Late Antiquity, Library of New Testament Studies 554 (London, 2016). 106 Michael D. Swartz, ‘Scribal Magic and its Rhetoric: Formal Patterns in Medieval Hebrew and Aramaic Incantation Texts from the Cairo Genizah’, Harvard Theological Review 83 (1990), 163-80, 168. 103

Rethinking the Didache’s Evidence for Eucharistic Practices in the Light of the Diversity of Practice Witnessed in Luke 22:17-20 Thomas O’LOUGHLIN, University of Nottingham, Nottingham, UK

ABSTRACT If our paradigm of the early churches is one of variety in practice preceding uniform ‘accepted’ forms, then we need to look again at many instances where early evidence for practice was by-passed as aberrant or sectarian. The sequence of eucharistic blessings found in the Didache (God is thanked over a cup preceding a loaf) is one such case. Reassessing the evidence on just this topic can affect not only how we read individual texts (such as the Didache and Luke), but how we imagine these texts in relationship to one another in a period of diversity of practice prior to uniformity being seen as desirable in itself.

One of the most significant developments in patristics in recent decades has been the turn to plurality. For centuries it had been an axiom of scholarship that we could, and should, keep searching until we had identified a single, consistent original. This original state – be it a text, a practice, or a belief – would have normative status and from it we could trace changes, additions, subtractions and deviations. Whether these mutations were viewed positively (‘developments’) or negatively (‘corruptions’), they might all be traced back, by a process similar to working backwards along a genetic tree, to a moment in the life of Jesus, to an ‘apostolic practice,’ to the author’s pen of a canonical text, or to a moment when doctrine was not yet subject to disputes arising from mistaken interpretations.1 But Bauer’s work presented consistent and explicit doctrines as subsequent to a range of teaching,2 Parker presented New Testament texts as living responses to situations such that seeking ‘the original Greek text’ is a scholarly idol,3 and Bradshaw presented early liturgies as initially diverse with a standard ‘shape’ only gradually emerging rather than the reverse.4 1

See Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘Divisions in Christianity: The Contribution of “Appeals to Antiquity”’, in S. Oliver et al. (eds), Faithful Reading: New Essays in Theology and Philosophy in Honour of Fergus Kerr OP (London, 2012), 221-41. 2 Walter Bauer, Rechtgläubigkeit und Ketzerei im ältesten Christentum (Tübingen, 1934) [English version of second edition: Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (Philadelphia, PA, 1971)]. 3 David C. Parker, The Living Text of the Gospels (Cambridge, 1997). 4 Paul F. Bradshaw, The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship: Sources and Methods for the Study of the Early Liturgy, 2nd ed. (London, 2002).

Studia Patristica CXXV, 31-37. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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This turn to plurality has significant implications for one of our fundamental assumptions in dating texts and situations. Since the older assumption was that variety was subsequent to singularity, it followed that any difference, which could be viewed as a variant, from the norm must itself be later than that norm. However, if variety precedes the establishment of any canonical situation, then ‘the variants’ we find are not variants as such but rather the evidence for the earlier diversity; and each is a possibly unique witness to actual situations that are obscured to us by the later standardised forms. A classic illustration of this turn to plurality is how we view the sequence of the blessing over the cup preceding the blessing over the loaf5 such as we find in the Didache 9:2 and 3. In the older paradigm, because of the certainty, derived from Mk. 14:22-46 and inherited practice, that the loaf preceded the cup,7 any variant on this had to refer to ‘an Agape’ rather than a Eucharist.8 Thus, the witness of the Didache could be wholly by-passed in the history of eucharistic development, as certainly later, and, even if not a witness to deviant groups or practices,9 ignored.10 If, however, we assume that there was diversity in the practices of the churches prior to the emergence of ‘standard’ forms,11 we can reframe the argument and bring several other pieces of evidence into the debate on the ritual 5 In many discussions, this liturgical sequence is described in terms of ‘bread – wine’ which are standard terms used in discussions of eucharistic theology by systematicians; however, the terminology used here will be ‘loaf – cup’ because (a) this does not presume which liquid was used (see Andrew B. McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists: Food and Drink in Early Christian Ritual Meals [Oxford, 1999]), (b) the texts concerned seem more concerned within the way these realities were handled (broken and shared; consumed from a shared cup) than with them as distinct foodstuffs; and (c) the emphasis ‘bread’ and ‘wine’ seems to reflect a scholastic interest in them as the materia sacramenti (see Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘Translating Panis in a Eucharistic Context: A Problem of Language and Theology’, Worship 78 [2004], 226-35). 6 Older arguments would have begun with Matt. 26:26-8 on the assumption that Mark is derived from Matthew. 7 See Joachim Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus (London, 1966), 157 who stated that ‘a Lord’s Supper in the order wine-bread … has never happened’. 8 Ibid. 118; and on the appeals to ‘an Agape’ to explain evidence that does not fit the norm, see A.B. McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists (1999), 21-4. 9 Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘Reactions to the Didache in Early Twentieth-century Britain: A Dispute over the Relationship of History and Doctrine?’, in S. Jay Brown, Frances Knight and John MorganGuy (eds), Religion, Identity and Conflict in Britain: From the Restoration to the Twentieth Century. Essays in Honour of Keith Robbins (Farnham, 2013), 177-94. 10 For example: Gregory Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy (London, 1945), 48, n. 3 – where the evidence of the Didache, such as the sequence cup – loaf, which would up-set ‘the shape’ is removed from discussion with a single footnote. 11 This was done casually by Aaron Milavec, The Didache: Faith, Hope, and Life of the Earliest Christian Communities, 50-70 C.E. (New York, NY, 2003), 360 who accounted for the differing sequences as possibly reflecting ‘the fact local differences existed in this matter’. While I agree with Milavec, this approach does not exhaust what this sequence can tell us about what was happening in the churches.

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activity of Jesus followers. On the one hand it is very clear that in some places the blessing over the loaf did precede that over the cup. We have very early evidence (we cannot be certain it is the earliest evidence) in 1Cor. 11:24-5 which is presented as that which Paul himself received (and so is, presumably older than 1Cor.). This is supported by a second reference by Paul where eating the loaf is mentioned before drinking from the cup: ‘Whoever, therefore, eats the loaf or drinks the cup unworthily will be answerable for the Lord’s body and blood’ (11:27-8). This sequence would then be that found in Mk. 14:22-4, and followed by Matt. 26:26-8. The evidence for the other practice is more diverse. We have one clear statement of the sequence cup then loaf in Didache 9:2-3, but we should recall that for this we depend upon a single manuscript. We may also have evidence that Paul was familiar with this practice because in 1Cor. 10:16-7 he refers first to ‘the cup of blessing’ and then to the loaf which he links to the one body. Is this sequence a deliberate reversal of what is familiar to his audience or does it come to him from memory: he knows this sequence in practice? A few verses later (10:21) he points out that: ‘You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons, you cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons’. Could it be that his mention of ‘the cup’ and then ‘the table’ is again a reflection of a practice with which Paul was familiar? It does, at least, seem that Paul is far less committed to a particular sequence in which the cup comes after the loaf than 1Cor. 11:24-5 would lead us to suspect. When we turn to ‘the long text’ of Luke’s account of the Last Supper (22:1720) we have even better evidence for diversity of early Christian practice. The famous conundrum would appear to favour neither of the above sequences with its reference to cup, followed by loaf, which is then followed by a second cup. Indeed, this account’s two cups has been the basis, since the work of Westcott, for arguments that the final supper of Jesus and his disciples, because it was a Passover meal as narrated in later Jewish sources, involved a sequence of four cups of which we hear mention here of just two (with the implication that later Christian practice retained – as narrated in Paul, Mark and Matthew – just one.12 However, looking at the range of ‘the variants’ to the received longer text (i.e. the so-called ‘Majority Text’), we notice that each ‘variant’ has just a single cup. While many Vetus Latina codices and a variety of Syriac witnesses have the sequence loaf then cup, we find in some other Vetus Latina manuscripts and Codex Bezae the cup preceding the loaf. The simplest solution of the textual problem is that the Gospel of Luke circulated in two forms each reflecting a different eucharistic practice, and the majority text is a conflation 12 Brooke F. Westcott and Fenton J.A. Hort, Introduction to the New Testament in the Original Greek (Cambridge, London, 1881), Appendix, 63-5, where Westcott sought the evidence for the originality of the longer text in its apparent reflection of Jewish practice as observed in the Mishnah.

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of these two forms which retains both sequences since that probably emerged at a time when the gospel text already had sacral status and, therefore, lest anything be lost, the two texts were meshed together.13 If we accept this solution to the textual problem (i.e. that it is not a choice between ‘longer’ versus ‘shorter’ texts, but a question of a conflation against two different, shorter forms – ‘living texts’ – of the gospel), then the longer text (because it includes in 22:17-9 the sequence of cup followed by loaf) preserves our strongest evidence for the diversity of early church practice and, indeed, that that practice did not disappear at a very early date (as many commentators supporting the notion that the Didache refers to a eucharist have had to argue) but continued such that it has left its mark on the circulation of Luke’s Gospel. That the approach taken here, beginning with a plurality of practices, leads to wide range of revisions in scholarship can be seen in nuce in its implications for the classic 1937 diagram of the Lucan ‘variants’ in Greek.14 In that none of those ‘variants’ with the exception of Codex Bezae exist in Greek but in Syriac or Latin, we see that the custom of rendering them in Greek using parallel phrases is deceptive. It assumes we have a Greek original text, then variants, then versional evidence of those variants. But what we may have is varying practices reflected in texts in the local languages of those practices. We no longer should approach the body of evidence contained in the diagram as a textual ‘puzzle’ but rather as a display of the range of Christian liturgical activity in the period before Eusebius15 – for which we have so little other evidence – accidentally preserved for us within the traditions of the text of Luke. What picture does this present to us? Leaving aside ‘the majority text’, we find that all the Syriac witnesses and many of the Vetus Latina witnesses have the sequence loaf preceding cup. Bezae and some of the Latin witnesses have the reverse. This would suggest that the majority, and most widespread, practice was that which is found in Mk. and Matt. and which would become the standard form in the liturgy: loaf then cup. While the minority practice, and our extant evidence is all in Greek or Latin, was cup preceding loaf. The emergence of the conflated text might be seen as being necessitated, in part, by the disappearance of the practice of cup then loaf, but without losing any of the 13 Thomas O’Loughlin, ‘One or two cups? The Text of Luke 22:17-20 Again’, in Hugh A.G. Houghton (ed.), The Liturgy and the Living Text of the New Testament: Papers from the Tenth Birmingham Colloquium on the Textual Criticism of the New Testament [Studies in Honour of D.C. Parker] (Piscataway, NJ, 2018), 51-69. 14 Frederick G. Kenyon and S.C.E. Legg, ‘The Biblical Basis: The Textual Data’, in Roderic Dunkerley (ed.), Faith and Order Movement Continuation C: The Ministry and the Sacraments (London, 1937), 272-86, 284 and 285. This chart is reproduced in Bruce M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (London, 1975 [corrected edition]), 175; and then by Richard L. Omanson, A Textual Guide to the Greek New Testament (Stuttgart, 2006), 148. 15 The earliest evidence I have found for a conflating of the two texts, and this is done with an awareness of the problem of several cups in a conflated text of Luke, is in Eusebius; see Th. O’Loughlin, ‘One or two cups?’ (2018), 67-8.

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verbal content. Now without any basis in experience for what they were reading, the account with cup preceding loaf appeared as simply erratic, if not deviant, yet these texts had for their users a distinctive richness – for example the dominical words ‘do this in remembrance of me’ preserved within a gospel16 or another case of ipsissima verba in ‘this cup is the new covenant in my blood…’ which linked Lk. back to Matt. and Mk. – which could ‘not be lost’ and, consequently, the accumulation producing cup, then loaf, then cup was preferable to an elimination.17 In taking a different approach to the text of Luke, we see that other common ‘facts’ of scholarship need to be brought into line. Jeremias, as we have noted, was certain that there never was a eucharistic practice with the sequence cup followed by loaf. We might formulate another categorical statement: there is no evidence for a blessing of God over multiple cups – this apparently never happened. If this is accepted, then we must cease invoking later evidence relating to the Jewish seder to help in explaining Luke or in the more tenuous enterprise of ‘reconstructing’ the historical Last Supper. It has often been pointed out how flawed is the appeal to those later multiple cups in discussions of the Last Supper – an appeal we should recall that began with Westcott seeking to defend the longer text of Luke, but we should reject them simply because we have no evidence to give rise to the question. But what of the Didache without which this whole line of enquiry would probably not have been embarked upon? The obvious implication is that we should no longer think of the Didache, and the practice it reflects, as an anomaly. Rather it is positive and direct evidence for an aspect of the Christian history that has been all but forgotten. However, we need to note two less obvious implications. Firstly, the sequence cup followed by loaf has often been seen, by those who accepted that the Didache did refer to a eucharistic meal, as a very primitive element. In turn, this has been used as evidence in arguing for an early date for the whole document.18 The evidence points to the diversity of practice lasting well into the time when the gospel was in widespread circulation; the sequence is not relevant in any of the disputes relating to dating the Didache. Second, we often forget how poorly attested (in comparison with canonical texts) is the Didache: we have one eleventh-century Greek manuscript which we treat as our base text.19 But supposing a diversity of practice, if the 16

As distinct from being preserved in Paul. Within Eusebius’ gospel apparatus the emphasis is upon the agreement in words – three gospels speak together, while the disagreement in practice (two cups in Lk. versus a single cup in Matt. and Mk.) is almost invisible. 18 This is implicit, for instance, in Niederwimmer’s argument that the two prayers, and the sequence, in Didache 9 are a more direct borrowing from Judaism than the material in Didache 10, see Kurt Niederwimmer, The Didache: A Commentary (Minneapolis, MN, 1998), 142-5. 19 The codex in which Philotheus Bryennios identified the Didache was produced in 1056, and is currently housed in Jerusalem; hence it is sometimes referred to as ‘the Codex Hierosolymitanus’. 17

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Didache itself had a wide circulation (and the evidence points in that direction), then we have to allow that in some places the text was arranged 9:3-4 (loaf) and then 9:2 (cup). What we have, on this assumption, in the manuscript from 1056 is a copy ultimately derived from a copy in use in a place with the sequence cup then loaf; and so must allow for the possibility that there were other copies – perhaps even a majority20 – with the loaf preceding the cup. However, the most far reaching implication of assuming this particular diversity of practice concerns how we imagine the sequence of blessings at the Last Supper, and how we use the Synoptic Gospels and the Didache to support that view. Broadly speaking (and supported by the continual repetition of the institution narrative in the liturgy both east and west) we think of ‘the last supper’ sequence, the liturgical paradigm, as: ● the blessing over the loaf; ● then the supper / the community meal; and when finished: ● the blessing over the cup.

The key support for this is Paul’s statement: ‘In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood’ (1Cor. 11:25). Which is then, with the traditional understanding and among defenders of the longer text of Luke, also known to Luke and so found in his gospel (22:20). Thus Paul / Luke form the temporal frame against which we read the other gospels: Paul 1Cor.

Matthew

Mark

Cup

Luke 22:17-8

Loaf

11:23-4

Meal

11:25

Cup

11:25

26:26

14:22

22:19 22:20

26:27-9

14:23-5

22:20

In turn, we then try to fit the sequence of texts in the Didache in relation to this pattern: noting that we have a blessing over the cup (9:2) followed by a blessing over the loaf (9:3-4); then a reference to ‘when all are satisfied’ (10:1) followed by another thanksgiving (10:2-6). In this scenario the key point is that Didache 10:1 seems to reflect the emphasis on ‘after supper’ even if its practice of having both blessings before the meal seems aberrant – and once again there is ‘evidence’ that argues against the Didache’s instructions relating to a eucharist. However, if we see the Gospel of Luke as having two ‘short’ forms with 22:20 as a deliberate echoing of Paul in some places (as seen in that it is only found 20 Since the bulk of the other early evidence, as outlined above, points to loaf then cup being the most common sequence, we could assume that copies of the Didache reflected this.

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in some Syrian variants), rather than as somehow an analogue to Didache 10:1, then the Didache’s practice is far closer to the Synoptics. In effect, we would have both blessings immediately after one another in Mark, Matthew, Luke (definite evidence for both loaf-cup and cup-loaf sequences), and the Didache (inferred evidence for both sequences). In this scenario, it is 1Cor. 11:25, allowing that it is so familiar to later Christians from being echoed in the liturgy, that is singular in attestation and might be aberrant in relation to what we see in the gospels and the Didache. It is the location of the two blessings in Paul either side of a meal, rather than that in the Didache, that needs explanation.21 This article has focussed on one instance of diversity in ritual practice evidenced in the churches of the first and second centuries. If its line of argument is accepted, then it brings two larger questions, one historical and the other theological, in its wake. First, how in the period before the latter half of the third century,22 was liturgical uniformity in the sequence of these blessings established, and what is the significance of that change for our understanding of the development of Christian worship? Second, since some churches today oppose diversity in eucharistic practice on the basis of historical appeals to what was ‘always and everywhere’ done, do such churchpeople need to question the cogency of their arguments?

21

Jonathan Schwiebert, Knowledge of the Coming Kingdom: The Didache’s meal Ritual and its Place in Early Christianity (London, 2008), 98-100 has argued for ‘two ritual paths’ in which the Didache represents a marginal deviation – indeed, the Didache may ‘appear to be later and … to deviate intentionally from the canonical norm’ of the Last Supper (ibid. 4) – within ancient Christianity. If, by contrast, the argument above is accepted, then there is no such deviation witnessed in the Didache as Schwiebert supposes, and the point at issue becomes a matter of explaining how the whole later tradition deviates from the what Paul cites as an item of transmitted teaching. It could be that by the time of Mark, for instance, the practice of the blessing over the loaf before the meal and that over the cup after the meal was already obsolescent. 22 I derive this terminus ante quam from the earliest evidence of a desire to demonstrate that the two cups in Lk. are equivalent to the single cup in Matt. and Mk. is, as already noted, that found in Eusebius. This leaves open the question of when the two forms of Lk. were conflated to produce the ‘majority text’ which is the text used by Eusebius.

Chewing on the Eucharist or on the Gospel? The Metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD, John 6 and the Last Supper in Origen Kevin KÜNZL, Technische Universität Dresden, Germany

ABSTRACT The article seeks to contribute to the discussion about the concept ‘spiritual nourishment’ and its connection to the Eucharist in the early Patristic era. As Origen is central for this debate, the article argues that many of his seemingly ‘Eucharistic’ references to eating and drinking the flesh and blood of Christ neither should be understood as relating to the Eucharist nor as being dependent on it. Instead, it is proposed that this language is based on the broadly-attested conceptual metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD and contributes to catechetical discourses about the nature and importance of the Christian gospel. The article argues this by drawing on passages from Origen (and Tertullian, Macarius Magnes, and the Acts of Paul for comparative purposes) that show the reception of John 6 and the Last Supper but arguably lack a connection to the Church’s Eucharistic practice. Further, this evidence is contrasted with texts from Origen’s oeuvre that actually show such a connection. The results of these considerations promise a more nuanced picture of Origen’s view on his contemporary Eucharistic practice as well as his understanding of John 6 and the Last Supper.

1. Introduction Origen is known as a man of learning. For the Alexandrian, the deeper someone delves into the self-revelation of God in Scripture the better he understands his own existence as grounded in Christ.1 Origen saw it as his prime task to enable each believer to study Scripture as an active exegete who uses his individual capacity to the fullest.2 A. Fürst coins this approach to Christian life and identity ‘Biblisch-christliche Bildung und Kultur’.3 The language Origen employs to verbalize this concept fits his fondness of allegory and can appear rather colourful to recipients. Oftentimes, this 1

Origen, princ. 4.2.7-8 (ed. P. Koetschau; GCS 22, 318-20). See e.g. Origen, homilia 12.5 in Gen. (ed. W.A. Baehrens, GCS 29, 111-2). 3 See Alfons Fürst, Origenes: Grieche und Christ in römischer Zeit, STAC 9 (Stuttgart, 2017), 105-9, with references to earlier literature. See also Peter W. Martens, Origen and Scripture: The Contours of the Exegetical Life, OECS (Oxford, 2012), 91-2. 2

Studia Patristica CXXV, 39-50. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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language has been recognized to allude to Eucharistic practice and theology. One of the many phrases in Origen’s oeuvre that have contributed to such an understanding is e.g. his statement that ‘Christians devour the flesh of the lamb every day, which means they consume the flesh of the word daily’ 4. From such statements, scholars like L. Lies have concluded that Origen is drawing a parallel between studying Scripture and the sacrament of the Eucharist. This gave rise to concepts like a ‘sacramental verbal action’ taking central stage during the Eucharist, which works to give bread and wine their beneficial status as body and blood of Christ.5 From this perspective, the Eucharist is understood as a sacramental partaking in Christ as the Logos. Not without certain circularity, this notion of a ‘Logos-centred’ Eucharist is in turn also used to explain Origen’s statements about partaking in the word via studying Scripture and adopting Christian teaching.6 The concept of Scripture is constructed alongside the presumed sacramental logic of the Eucharist. 7 Both, Scripture and Eucharist, take on a certain ‘spiritualizing air’ due to their focus on the word.8 In the following, this view on Scripture and Eucharist in Origen is reconsidered and a different basis for Origen’s supposedly ‘Eucharistic’ language about Scripture and Christian teachings proposed. 4

Origen, homilia 10.3 in Gen. (ed. W.A. Baehrens, GCS 29, 97; own translation). See e.g. Lothar Lies, Wort und Eucharistie bei Origenes: Zur Spiritualisierungstendenz des Eucharistieverständnisses, IThS 1, 2nd ed. (Innsbruck a.o., 1982), 214-6 (and passim). For a concise overview of studies on the Eucharist in Origen see Harald Buchinger, ‘Eucharistische Praxis und eucharistische Frömmigkeit bei Origenes’, SE 54 (2015), 5-78, 7. Otherwise, Lies also wrote a comprehensive Auslegungsgeschichte of the Eucharist in Origen, see id., Origenes’ Eucharistielehre im Streit der Konfessionen: Die Auslegungsgeschichte seit der Reformation, IThS 15 (Innsbruck, Wien, 1985). 6 See in detail L. Lies, Wort (1982), 218-58, esp. 226: Origen is said to have applied genuinely ‘Eucharistic’ concepts to gospel and Scripture. More recently: H. Buchinger, ‘Praxis’ (2015), 53-6, and Gunnar af Hällström, ‘A Spiritual Meal for Spiritual People: The Eucharist in the Theology of Clement and Origen of Alexandria’, in David Hellholm and Dieter Sänger (eds), The Eucharist – Its Origins and Contexts: Sacred Meal, Communal Meal, Table Fellowship in Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, WUNT 2/376 (Tübingen, 2017), 993-1010, 1005-6. Franz Maier, ‘Die zweifache Kommunion mit Christus nach der Lehre der Kirchenväter’, GuL 25 (1952), 365-75, is a classic article for the view that the fathers of the church knew something like a ‘communion with the word’ that was understood according to the logics of the sacramental Eucharist. 7 See e.g. H. Buchinger, ‘Praxis’ (2015), 54, note 200: ‘In diesem Sinne bezieht sich Origenes zwar sehr häufig auf die johanneische Brotrede, transzendiert aber das liturgische Verständnis meist zugunsten eines spiritualisierten Verständnisses der Teilhabe am Logos, welche selbstverständlich nicht gegen die eucharistisch-liturgische Kommunion ausgespielt werden darf, sondern nur auf deren Basis zu verstehen ist’. This claim of a ‘liturgical understanding’ being the ‘basis’ will be strongly contested in the present article. 8 A review of the plethora of literature that has addressed ‘spiritual nourishment in Origen’ is not possible here. For a brief and recent overview, see Fernando Soler, ‘The Theological Use of Eating and Drinking Metaphors in Origen’s De Principiis’, ZAC 23 (2019), 4-20, 4-5, note 1. 5

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2. Methodological Considerations One fundamental methodological problem of Eucharistic interpretations of passages like the one quoted above (‘Christians devour the flesh of the lamb every day, which means they consume the flesh of the word daily’) is their reliance upon a text-external, basically hypothetical, category. Such a reading presupposes the existence and dominance of a form of the Christian meal where food and drink were consumed as flesh and blood of Christ for a sacramental benefit of the believer. This specific form and theology of the Eucharist, however, cannot be taken for granted historically. Over the past twenty years, scholars from different backgrounds have acknowledged that numerous liturgical and theological developments long seen as constants are products of the fourth century and beyond. This includes the sacrament of the Eucharist, which only gradually became distinct from the communal meal.9 Against this backdrop, the diverse development of theological reflections on the meal and its relation to Biblical texts and motifs should be considered as well. Another methodological problem is that a proposed ‘Eucharistic allusion’ usually does not positively contribute to the understanding of the intention and argument of a given text. On the contrary, it might even hinder a deeper investigation into the argumentative structure. Adding another layer of meaning that does not advance a text’s argument while introducing additional pre-assumptions violates the lex parsimoniae.10 The following is the proposal of a different methodological approach trying to avoid the problems that evolve from using the sacramental Eucharist as an argumentative basis. This approach draws on the fundamental human experience 9 Regarding the developments in the earliest period see the fundamental works by Matthias Klinghardt, Gemeinschaftsmahl und Mahlgemeinschaft: Soziologie und Liturgie frühchristlicher Mahlfeiern, TANZ 13 (Tübingen, Basel, 1996), and Dennis E. Smith, From Symposium to Eucharist: The Banquet in the Early Christian World (Minneapolis, 2003). A critical overview of many sources is given in Benedikt Eckhardt and Clemens Leonhard, ‘Art. Mahl V (Kultmahl)’, RAC 23 (2009), 1012-105. Further: Paul F. Bradshaw, Eucharistic Origins (Oxford, New York, 2004); id. and Maxwell E. Johnson, The Eucharistic Liturgies: Their Evolution and Interpretation (Collegeville, 2012); Andrew B. McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists: Food and Drink in Early Christian Ritual Meals (Oxford, New York, 1999); id., ‘Rethinking Agape and Eucharist in Early North African Christianity’, SL 32 (2004), 165-76; id., Ancient Christian Worship: Early Church Practices in Social, Historical, and Theological Perspective (Grand Rapids, 2014); Martin Wallraff, ‘Von der Eucharistie zum Mysterium: Abendmahlsfrömmigkeit in der Spätantike’, in Peter Gemeinhardt (ed.), Patristica et Oecumenica: FS W.A. Bienert, MThSt 85 (Marburg, 2004), 89-104; id., ‘Christliche Liturgie als religiöse Innovation in der Spätantike’, in Wolfram Kinzig (ed.), Liturgie und Ritual in der Alten Kirche: Patristische Beiträge zum Studium der gottesdienstlichen Quellen der alten Kirche, StPatrAG 11 (Leuven, 2011), 69-97. 10 Briefly, the potential charge of an argumentum e silentio must be addressed here: It is certainly true that liturgy is rarely explicitly described because it was assumed to be known to the audience. Silence does not prove none-existence. Similarly, however, we should avoid to project evidence from the 4th c. (and beyond) anachronistically onto earlier periods just because we lack sources. Instead, we need to start from the evidence we have for each period and very carefully evaluate what it can tell us – without having set expectations from the beginning.

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of eating and drinking – not on a specific Christian ritual – by employing the psycholinguistic Conceptual Metaphor Theory. This theory regards so-called ‘conceptual metaphors’ as patterns deeply-rooted in human cognition that help us structure the world around us.11 Conceptual metaphors are a strategy to grasp complex, abstract, or less delineated ideas by using tangible concepts grounded in bodily experience.12 As empirical research has been able to show, metaphors are indeed just as central to the cognitive processes in our brains as the level of meaning one would call ‘literal’. There is no evidence to suggest a processing hierarchy between ‘literal’ and ‘metaphorical’. A ‘metaphorical’ meaning can be even more salient than a ‘literal’ one.13 Conceptual metaphors are, thus, simply conventional. One such conceptual metaphor relates to the way we perceive the abstract idea of thinking and communicating: The conceptual metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD14 describes how people understand processes of learning and understanding along the lines of eating and drinking.15 Since virtually all humans share the bodily experience of objects, i.e. food, entering their bodies via eating, this phenomenon is virtually universal across countless languages and cultures.16 Closely connected with the concept IDEAS ARE FOOD is that of the CONDUIT.17 It describes the tendency to think of the abstract process of exchanging intellectual ‘contents’ as sending physical objects from one place to another: Ideas are parcels and the mind is a container; thus, an idea can ‘come through’ for instance. The structure of IDEAS ARE FOOD is analogous but more complex. ‘Eating and drinking’ ideas makes a statement about the level of processing or 11

For the fundamental work on Conceptual Metaphor Theory see George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live by (Chicago, 1980). 12 See Raymond W. Gibbs Jr., Metaphor Wars: Conceptual Metaphor in Human Life (Cambridge, 2017), 23. 13 See Sam Glucksberg, ‘How Metaphors Create Categories – Quickly’, in Raymond W. Gibbs, Jr. (ed.), The Cambridge Handbook of Metaphor and Thought, Cambridge Handbooks in Psychology (Cambridge, 2008), 67-83, 70. 14 I follow the usual practice of psycholinguistic studies by printing conceptual metaphors in small capitals. 15 J. Heilmann has come to convincing results reading John 6 against the backdrop of the metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD, see Jan Heilmann, Wein und Blut: Das Ende der Eucharistie im Johannesevangelium und dessen Konsequenzen, BWANT 204 (Stuttgart, 2014); id., ‘A Meal in the Background of John 6:51–58?’, JBL 137 (2018), 481-500. His results partly motivated the present article. For earlier studies that noticed the metaphor and its importance but lacked theoretical grasp see Peder Borgen, Bread from Heaven: An Exegetical Study of the Concept of Manna in the Gospel of John and the Writings of Philo, NT.S 10, 2nd ed. (Leiden, 1981); Matthias Klinghardt, ‘Boot und Brot: Zur Komposition von Mk 3,7–8,21’, BThZ 19 (2002), 183-202; Karl-Gustav Sandelin, Wisdom as Nourisher: A Study of an Old Testament Theme, Its Development within Early Judaism and Its Impact on Early Christianity, Acta Academiae Aboensis, Ser. A. Humaniora 64.3 (Åbo, 1986); recently and specifically on Origen see F. Soler, ‘Use’ (2019). 16 For a treatment of IDEAS ARE FOOD e.g. in Chinese see Xu Wen and Kun Yang, ‘Systematicity and Complexity of IDEA Metaphors in Chinese’, Metaphor and Symbol 31 (2016), 230-49, 242-5. 17 See Zoltán Kövecses, Metaphor: A Practical Introduction, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 2010), 83-4.

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‘profoundness’ of the intellectual engagement and often also implies something about its effects: In English, you may ‘chew’ on an idea that is ‘food for thought’; but it can also be ‘half-baked’ or even ‘indigestible’ so you cannot even ‘swallow’ any of it. 3. Interpretations of John 6 as Discourse on the Gospel If this theory is correct and applicable to ancient cultures – i.e. assuming that there might be an anthropological constant at work –, we should expect ample evidence for the IDEAS ARE FOOD concept not only in ancient Christian texts, but also in non-Christian environments. This is in fact the case. For reasons of brevity, however, one instructive example from Seneca the Younger must suffice here: Conceptualizing the reception of texts as eating,18 he explains to Lucilius that superficially reading many different books is like upsetting your stomach with too many kinds of food. The passage exemplifies the semantic specifics of the metaphor described above by stressing the level of processing and the effects of the intellectual activity: Be careful, however, lest this reading of many authors and books of every sort may tend to make you discursive and unsteady. You must linger among a limited number of master thinkers, and digest their works (innutriri), if you would derive ideas which shall win firm hold in your mind. Everywhere means nowhere. … ‘But’, you reply, ‘I wish to dip first into one book and then into another’. I tell you that it is the sign of an overnice appetite to toy with many dishes (fastidientis stomachi est multa degustare); for when they are manifold and varied, they cloy but do not nourish.19

The same way of speaking about intellectual matters – in this case the Christian gospel – is also present in Patristic literature, and it is widespread. The interpretation of John 6 along the lines of the conceptual metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD is particularly typical.20 This can be shown by three brief examples: Within their individual oeuvres, Tertullian, Origen, and Macarius Magnes all interpret John 6 by drawing upon IDEAS ARE FOOD. The individual mappings21 18

For a thorough discussion of reading metaphors in antiquity see the Habilitationsschrift by Jan Heilmann, Lesen in Antike und frühem Christentum: Kulturgeschichtliche, philologische sowie kognitionswissenschaftliche Perspektiven und deren Bedeutung für die neutestamentliche Exegese, submitted in March 2019 at Ruhruniversität Bochum, Germany. On pages 142-6, Heilmann deals with eating and drinking as reading metaphors. 19 Seneca, epist. 2.2-4 (translation by R.M. Gummere; LCL 75, 7). 20 Such readings of John 6 are a staple in Patristic literature well into the 4th century and beyond. F. Maier, ‘Kommunion’ (1952), gives many later examples, e.g. from Augustine, but interprets them (in concord with the dominant line of thought described in the introduction above) as giving Scripture a sacramental status dependent on ‘Eucharistic thought’. 21 Using philosophical and theological terminology and concepts, F. Soler describes the phenomenon of metaphorical mappings as ‘the analogical correspondence between the κόσμος αἰσθητός and the νοητός’, see F. Soler, ‘Use’ (2019), 14.

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differ, however: In On Resurrection, Tertullian maps ‘hearing’ as ‘eating’ (devorandus auditu), and goes on to elaborate on the process of understanding as ‘ruminating’ and ‘digesting’ (ruminandus intellectu et fide digerendus).22 Origen (On Pascha) and Macarius map ‘reading’ or ‘studying Scripture’ as ‘eating’, thereby both setting focus on the individual’s direct exegetical activity.23 These three texts also have something else in common that sets them apart from non-Christian uses of the metaphor: Scripture and doctrine are described as being Christ – specifically his flesh and blood. This is, of course, what lets scholars wrongly propose ‘Eucharistic allusions’. In fact, these texts exhibit a Christological appropriation of the conventional IDEAS ARE FOOD concept, which is facilitated by Johannine incarnation theology: ‘Flesh’ and ‘blood’ specify the properties of the ‘ideas’ that are in focus here. They point at Scripture’s substantial, nourishing, and life-giving level of meaning: the flesh and blood of Christ, not his skin and bones – the message that offers salvation, nothing half-baked.24 Yet, it is true that (under the premise of a certain type of sacramental Eucharist) the three texts just discussed could theoretically still be read as containing ‘Eucharistic allusions’. This claim, however – in addition to ignoring Ockham’s razor and the texts’ argumentative structure – fails texts that feature the same kind of motifs while subverting ‘Eucharistic expectations’. An example comes from Origen’s homilies: Our Lord and Saviour says, ‘unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood, you will not have life in you. For my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink’. Therefore, since Jesus is completely clean, all his flesh is food and all his blood is drink because his every deed is holy and his every word is true. Therefore, his ‘flesh is true food’ and his ‘blood is true drink’. For from the flesh and blood of his word, as from pure food and drink, he gives drink and refreshment to every kind of person. In the second place, after his flesh, the clean food is Peter, Paul, and all the apostles, in the third place, their disciples.25

Unless it is proposed that the consecrated bread of the Eucharist is identified with Peter and Paul, Origen clearly gives a studying guide based on IDEAS ARE FOOD in this text: The best source for proper teachings are the Gospels (meaning 22

Tertullian, resurr. 37.3 (ed. J.G.P. Borleffs; CChr.SL 2, 970). Origen, pasch. 1.96 (ed. B. Witte; Arbeiten zum spätantiken und koptischen Ägypten 4, 124); Macarius Magnes, apocr. 3.23.11 (ed. U. Volp; TU 169, 210). For Origen, Christ’s flesh is ‘the sense of the letter’ and his blood ‘the faith in the gospel’. Likewise, Macarius writes that flesh and blood both are the allegorical sense of the gospel. ‘Digesting’ is said to mean remembering it with (proper) understanding. 24 This is explicitly spelled out e.g. in Origen, comm. 17.22 in Mt. (ed. E. Klostermann, GCS 40, 643-5). In this passage, Origen parallels the gospel’s nourishing capacity for the human spirit with the bodily nourishment provided by fat oxen and cattle. If the gospel were not nourishing, the guests of the Great Banquet (Mt. 22:1-14) were to receive dry and meagre food. 25 Origen, homilia 7.5 in Lev. (ed. W.A. Baehrens, GCS 29, 386-7; own translation). 23

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the specific texts in this case), as they offer direct access to Christ himself via his words and deeds. Next come the other New Testament writings that record the teachings of the apostles (‘Peter and Paul’), and finally the teachings of Origen himself, his contemporaries, and his predecessors: the apostles’ disciples in a broad sense. If the Christianized version of the IDEAS ARE FOOD metaphor is independent from the Eucharist here, we should seriously consider the same in other cases, too. 4. Origen’s Commentary on the Last Supper as Discourse on the Gospel A similar picture emerges if we consider Origen’s interpretation of Jesus’ Last Supper. The prime text of his oeuvre that deals with this New Testament tradition comes from the commentary on Mt. – precisely from the Latin commentariorum series: The drink is the produce of the true vine that says, ‘I am the true vine’. And it is the blood of the grape that is sent into the wine press and brings forth this drink. Likewise, the bread is the word of Christ made from the grain of wheat that falls into the ground and brings much fruit. As God, the Word, did not call the visible bread he held in his hands his body, but the word in whose secret the bread was to be broken (in cuius mysterio fuerat panis ille frangendus). Neither did he call the visible drink his blood, but the word in whose secret the drink was to be spilt (in cuius mysterio potus ille fuerat effundendus). For what is the body and blood of God, the Word, if not the word that nourishes and the word that gladdens the heart?26

The part about the ‘visible bread and drink’ and the ‘heart-gladdening word’ is rather infamous. It took until the middle of the 18th century until it was finally printed in editions, seemingly because it appeared to promote unorthodox views on the Eucharist.27 But taking a close look, the sacrament does not come up in this text: Origen solely reflects on the Christian gospel.28 The Last Supper, 26 Origen, comm. ser. 85 in Mt. (eds. E. Klostermann and U. Treu; GCS 38, 196-7; own translation). 27 De La Rue was the first to include the passage into a printed edition of Origen’s works. In a footnote, he explains how he found the passage in duobus antiquis manuscriptis codicibus – in one of them expunged. He was, however, unsure about what to think of the passage’s orthodoxy. Only after conversing with the royal censor, who gave his approval, de La Rue eventually decided to risk including the lines into his edition. The footnote is readily accessible via Migne’s PG 13, 1733-4, which reprints de La Rue’s edition. 28 H.J. Vogt also calls the connection of comm. ser. 85-6 in Mt. to the Eucharist into question, see Hermann Josef Vogt, ‘Eucharistielehre des Origenes?’, in Wilhelm Geerlings (ed.), Origenes als Exeget (Paderborn a.o., 1999), 277-88. Although he does not recognize the conventional, metaphorical basis of Origen’s language, Vogt’s interpretation has parallels to the interpretation advocated in this article. G. af Hällström, ‘Meal’ (2017), 1002, recently also seems to have sensed that the text is not about the Eucharist, but somewhat unwillingly: ‘As Origen is commenting on the words of institution, he should be speaking all the time of the Eucharist!’

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however, gives rise to a different set of mappings and motifs than John 6. Origen begins with the claim that ‘body’ and ‘blood’ do not refer to the bread and drink Jesus holds in his hands in the Biblical narrative. Instead, they are said to refer to the ‘word that gladdens the heart’.29 In the secret of this word, the bread was to be broken, the drink to be poured. With the concept ‘secret of the word’, Origen refers to the nourishing, ultimately not fully comprehensible, spiritual sense of Scripture. Its mystical centre is the salvation through Christ’s passion and death.30 When applied to the ‘word’ here, the activities ‘breaking’ and ‘spilling’ mean ‘spreading the gospel’, which has its precondition and foundation in the death of Jesus. This motif has already been introduced prior to the statement about the visible bread and drink: At the very beginning of the quoted passage, Origen claims that the word Jesus calls ‘drink’ was brought forth through his passion and death (i.e. by Jesus being sent into the wine press).31 In variation of this theme, he then writes that the word called ’bread’ would only bring fruit by falling into the ground, i.e. by Jesus’ death.32 Breaking the bread and pouring the drink, thus, is bringing forth the gospel.33 The parallels for this metaphorical mapping are numerous: Origen refers to his homiletical activities (as well as to those of Jesus) as ‘bread breaking’ in other instances, too.34 The Acts of Paul offer another example from a different background. Despite the text’s fragmentary state, it appears that Paul’s last supper before departing to Rome might be narrated as a re-imagination of Jesus’ last supper. A significant difference, however, is the miracle of a 29 The word that gladdens the hearts of men is a recurring theme is Origin’s works. It draws on Ps. 103:15 (LXX). Going forward in comm. ser. 85-6 in Mt., Origen further refines his interpretation as he connects the dry and sober nature of the bread with the Law and the cup’s inebriating quality (see Ps. 22:5 [LXX]) with the Christian gospel. See also H.J. Vogt, ‘Eucharistielehre’ (1999), 284. The spiritual idea of a sobria ebrietas caused by the gospel is at work here. For this concept see Hans Lewy, Sobria Ebrietas: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der antiken Mystik, BZNW 9 (Gießen, 1929). 30 See e.g. Henri de Lubac, Geist aus der Geschichte: Das Schriftverständnis des Origenes. Übertragen und eingeleitet von Hans Urs von Balthasar (Einsiedeln, 1968), 115. 31 We find a similar thought in Clement of Alexandria who writes that the Lord filled the whole world with the blood of the vine (paed. 2.2.29.1 [eds. O. Stählin and U. Treu; GCS 12, 174]). 32 See John 12:24. 33 Unfortunately, the limited scope of this article only allows for the interpretation of part of Origen’s considerations. I argue, however, that presupposing a reference to the Eucharist is unnecessary throughout the whole of comm. ser. 85-6 in Mt. All motifs are adequately understood as creative realizations of the IDEAS ARE FOOD concept (e.g. feasting with Jesus in the upper room; the blood being poured into the believers’ hearts etc.). 34 Origen, homilia 12.5 in Gen. (ed. W.A. Baehrens, GCS 29, 111-2; own translation): ‘Consider how we break few breads: We choose few words from the Holy Scriptures – how many thousands of people are fed! But if these breads are not broken, if they are not crumbled into pieces by the disciples – that means if the letter is not neatly discussed and broken down – the sense cannot come across to everybody.’ The creative application of IDEAS ARE FOOD in this text is remarkable.

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self-breaking bread.35 The meaning of this sign is explained as, ‘Paul, the servant of the Lord, will save many in Rome, and he will nourish many with the word.’36 Thus, the miraculously self-breaking bread is said to signify Paul’s missionary success in Rome, i.e. ‘breaking bread’ again equals ‘spreading’ or ‘explaining’ the gospel.37 So far it has been shown that the conceptual metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD is not only used to interpret John 6 by Origen (and others). With different mappings, it also serves as an interpretative key for the Last Supper narrative as a discourse about the dissemination of the Christian gospel. In order to gain a fuller picture, however, these findings need to be set in relation with actual statements about the Eucharist from Origen.

5. References to the Eucharist in Origen Statements about the Eucharist are quite rare in Origen’s oeuvre. From a handful of passages, it becomes clear that he knew the designation of the food and drink of the Eucharistic meal as ‘body’ and ‘blood’ of Christ. For certain people, this designation seems to have been connected with soteriological expectations towards the food, which, as we will see, Origen did not share. Still, he takes up the terminology as such several times in a rather neutral manner. Once, Origen calls the food ‘the figurative and symbolical body’ (τὸ τυπικὸν καὶ συμβολικὸν σῶμα).38 Addressing Celsus, he also states, however, that the bread is called ‘Eucharist’ because it is a symbol of thanksgiving 35 This passage unfortunately depends on only two fragmentary papyri, P. Hamb. bil.1 and P. Heid. inv. Kopt. 300-301, both edited respectively in ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ. Acta Pauli: Nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, ed. Carl Schmidt (Glückstadt and Hamburg, 1936), 48-51, and Acta Pauli: Übersetzung, Untersuchungen und koptischer Text, ed. Carl Schmidt (Leipzig, 1905), 83. See also Neutestamentliche Apokryphen II: Apostolisches und Verwandtes, ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher, 6th ed. (Tübingen, 1997), 235. For a more recent treatment of the passage see Annette Merz, ‘Tränken und Nähren mit dem Wort. Der Beitrag der Mahlszenen zur narrativen Theologie der Paulusakten’, in Judith Hartenstein, Silke Petersen and Angela Standhartinger (eds), „Eine gewöhnliche und harmlose Speise“? Von den Entwicklungen frühchristlicher Abendmahlstraditionen (Gütersloh, 2008), 269-95, 285-6. Merz offers an insightful interpretation of many aspects of the texts, yet the connection to the sacramental Eucharist she draws (ibid. 294) is completely alien to the text. 36 ‘But the Spirit came over Myrte, so that she told them, “Brothers, why are your frightened looking at this sign [texts breaks off]. Paul, the servant of the Lord, will save many in Rome, and he will nourish many with the word (πολλοὺς θρέψει τῷ λόγῳ), so that you cannot count them …”’ (own translation based on Schmidt’s editions, see note 35 above). 37 This focus on the gospel fits the text’s well-known ascetic tenor, see e.g. A.B. McGowan, Eucharists (1999), 185-6. The motif of ‘spreading the word’ is prevalent throughout the Acts of Paul. At times, the longing for the gospel seems to rival the longing for actual food, see A. Merz, ‘Tränken’ (2008), 276-7. 38 Origen, comm. 11.14 in Mt. (ed. E. Klostermann, GCS 40, 58).

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towards God.39 The reader also learns that the breads become ‘some body’ (σῶμά τι) because a prayer of thanksgiving is spoken over them.40 If people take part in this meal with a healthy proposition, it benefits them. Yet, Origen’s problem lies in the question of how the meal benefits the believer: The benefit, according to him, lies in the word that accompanies the food (ὁ ἐπ’ αὐτῷ εἰρημένος λόγος), which leads to insight.41 The foodstuff itself, as he stresses firmly, is largely irrelevant:42 ‘Thus, not what goes into the mouth makes one holy, even if less experienced people believe that what is called bread of the Lord makes holy’.43 Overall, Origen is neither positively interested in being pious towards the foodstuff of the Eucharist nor in the idea of its potency as it existed among people who were ‘simple believers’.44 What counts is not the food and drink but the message of gospel, towards which believers should have the proper attitude if they want to have benefit from the Eucharistic meal. This critical pattern usually guides Origen’s stance towards the food and drink of the Eucharist as ‘body’ and ‘blood’. Throughout, it is combined with exhortations to engage rather with the word of the gospel than being pious towards a figure.45 Origen states, for instance, that if people care to take part in the dominici corporis sacramenta with a pure soul, then they should care even more (quanto magis) about engaging with the word of God with a pure soul in order to understand its mystery.46 Almost accusingly Origen questions why people exhibit so much consideration when handling the foodstuff while they neglect the word.47 Clearly, Origen does not blend Eucharistic food and 39

Origen, c. Celsum 8.57 (ed. P. Koetschau; GCS 3, 274). Origen, c. Celsum 8,33 (ed. P. Koetschau; GCS 3, 249). 41 Origen, comm. 11.14 in Mt. (ed. E. Klostermann, GCS 40, 58). 42 For the opposite claim see L. Lies, Wort (1982), 101, who also includes references to earlier scholars who rightly saw Origen’s disinterest in the foodstuff. 43 Origen, comm. 11.14 in Mt. (ed. E. Klostermann, GCS 40, 57; own translation). Origen’s following slight concession (ὁ λογος οὐκ εὐκαταφρόνητος) towards his audience, part of which certainly believed in some power of the foodstuff, does not change this. G. af Hällström, ‘Meal’ (2017), 1003, hesitantly comes to a similar conclusion in his comment on the passages and finds the result ‘rather chocking’. 44 On the ‘simple believers’ regularly mentioned by Origen and their views see Gunnar af Hällström, Fides simpliciorum: According to Origen of Alexandria, CHL 76 (Ekenäs, 1984). Unfortunately, Hällström does not treat the Eucharistic meal in this work. 45 This has also been rightly seen e.g. by Crouzel, who nonetheless defends Origen’s interest in the foodstuff at least to some degree, see Henri Crouzel, ‘Origène et la structure du sacrement’, BLE 63 (1962), 82-104, 94. 46 Origen, homilia 13.5-6 in Lev. (ed. W.A. Baehrens; GCS 29, 477). 47 Origen, homilia 13.3 in Ex. (ed. W.A. Baehrens; GCS 29, 274). Origen is chronologically the second Patristic writer who testifies to this kind of piety towards the Eucharistic food. Before him, Tertullian, cor. 3.4 (ed. E. Kroymann; CChr.SL 2, 1043), already lists the enactment of special piety toward calix aut panis nostri amongst unbiblical behaviors that believers tend to practice unquestioned. 40

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word into one. He rather separates them quite neatly.48 Commenting on the phrase ‘drinking the blood of the wounded’ (Num. 23:24) in a homily, he writes: We are said to ‘drink’ the ‘blood of Christ’ not only with the rite of the sacraments (non solum sacramentorum ritu), but also when we receive his words (sermones), in which there is life, as he himself says: ‘The words that I have spoken are spirit and life’. Thus, he himself was ‘wounded’, whose ‘blood we drink’, that means we receive the words of his doctrine (doctrinae eius verba).49

In this quote, the designation of the cup of the Eucharistic meal as ‘blood’ is distinctly differentiated from the application of the same term within the discourse about the Christian gospel (which functions via the conceptual metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD). Both logics do not visibly intertwine but stand next to each other. The engagement with the gospel, however, is more desirable for Origen than the food and drink of the Eucharist because the teaching of Christ is what should be most important for the believer. Engaging the gospel is not dependent on bodily eating – although it can be metaphorically described as such. Eating Christ, in the sense of IDEAS ARE FOOD, can happen in every context where believers focus on God’s word. It can (and should) also be the case in the Eucharistic meal. The presence of a symbolically-laden material entity – such as the foodstuff that is prayed over – may even facilitate this process. In fact, it may even fit the central idea of Conceptual Metaphor Theory, i.e. making abstract things more concrete. Yet, this is not to be confused with a ‘sacramental verbal action’ because this foodstuff itself does not have the inherent power to convey spiritual progress. For Origen, the meal rather offers potential for spiritual progress as far as it fosters people to set their minds on the word: be it via readings, prayers, discourses, or a symbolical representation. Regarding the understanding of Biblical texts, this evidence further suggests that Origen distinguishes two kinds of interpretations of John 6 and the Last Supper narrative: (1) ‘ritual’ interpretations that relate to the Eucharistic meal of his time; (2) interpretations that contribute to discourses about the nature and importance of the Christian gospel. The latter are ‘non-ritual’ in so far as they do not depend on a ‘Eucharistic logic’ but draw on the conventional conceptual metaphor IDEAS ARE FOOD. As Origen puts it, ‘the simpletons may understand the bread and the cup according to the more common perception about the Eucharist. But those who have learnt to listen deeper may understand it according to the more divine promise and about the nourishing word of

48 F. Soler, ‘Use’ (2019), 14-5 (and passim), explains how Origen describes bodily and spiritual needs analogous to each other (which is basically metaphorical mapping, see note 21 above). Soler does not show, however, that both realms mingle like they would in a sacramental understanding of the Eucharist where the bodily act of eating proper has spiritual effects. 49 Origen, homilia 16.9 in Num. (ed. W.A. Baehrens; GCS 30, 152; own translation).

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truth’.50 As Origen advocates the latter, he reveals a dissent between himself and parts of his audience that is ultimately grounded in an argument about exegesis. In one of the new homilies on Psalms, Origen reacts to this issue. Drawing on Prov. 24:13 and 25:16 (where ‘honey eating’ is praised), he asks: Is it ordered for me that I should eat honey because eating honey is good? Again, I am allegorizing; again, some may be vexed by the allegory. Again, this is what one who takes offence in what has been said may speak: ‘Eat honey, son, because it is good. Eating honey is good; and God has commanded us in the Spirit to eat honey. But never has he commanded us to eat the sweet word from the rock, so that we may be lovingly nourished forever by the holy word.’51

The irony of this passage is striking. Origen sees a defectus litterae. Thus, people who understand Scripture on a surface level here and want to deduce ritual imperatives from their reading appear stubborn and ridiculous. They fail to see what they can learn from the text to help their spiritual progress. The case with those believers who are overly pious towards the foodstuff of the Eucharist and believe in its sacramental effectiveness is similar: They, too, are stuck in a lower form of understanding and, thus, fall short of a higher form of beneficial participation in the Eucharistic meal – one that values the word. They fail to realize what Origen’s efforts are ultimately about: the deep engagement of every believer with the gospel.

50 51

Origen, comm. 32.24 in Joh. (ed. E. Preuschen; GCS 10, 468; own translation). Origen, homilia 2.8 in Ps. 80 (ed. L. Perrone; GCS N.F. 19, 508; own translation).

What does Lazarus Have to Do with the Epiphany? Unraveling a Mystery in the Early Jerusalem Lectionary Hugo MÉNDEZ, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Chapel Hill, NC, USA

ABSTRACT Every year on the sixth day of the Epiphany octave (Epiphany VI/11 January), the residents of Jerusalem gathered in Bethany and read the account of Jesus’ miraculous raising of Lazarus (John 11:1-46). This article reconstructs the meaning of this celebration from the extant homilies of Hesychius of Jerusalem, a fifth-century presbyter in the city. First, the article determines that Hesychius’ Hom. 12, In S. Lazarum, is an artifact of the celebration – that is, a sermon preached on Epiphany VI. Secondly, the article determines from the homily that Epiphany VI had a double significance for the residents of Jerusalem. Like other days in the Epiphany octave, the festivity commemorated Jesus’ birth, but it also – and even primarily – served as the city’s primary celebration of the raising of Lazarus. Lastly, the article revisits the origins and evolution of this festival. It concludes that the celebration was the partial continuation of an older and more complex memorial on the Saturday immediately before Holy Week – one that commemorated all of Jesus’ encounter with Mary, the raising of Lazarus, and a later supper shared in the home of Lazarus. Evidence of this older celebration persists in Cyril of Jerusalem’s Catechetical Lectures, the Itinerarium Egeriae, and perhaps also Hesychius’ Hom. 11. By the mid-fifth century, however, the church of Jerusalem limited the focus of this feast to the supper at Lazarus’ home; simultaneously, it moved the account of Lazarus’ raising to the only other date on which it held a public liturgy in Bethany, Epiphany VI.

From ancient witnesses, we know that the church of Jerusalem celebrated two feasts – the Epiphany and Pascha/Easter – as week-long celebrations (octaves).1 We also know the basic pattern of these octaves: throughout the week, the city gathered for daily liturgy in a fixed rotation of holy places (stations), 1 These witnesses include the Itinerarium Egeriae (Greek text in CChr.SL 175.35-90; English translation and introduction in Anne McGowan and Paul F. Bradshaw, The Pilgrimage of Egeria: A New Translation of the Itinerarium Egeriae with Introduction and Commentary [Collegeville, 2018]) and the Armenian Lectionary (Armenian and French text with introduction in Athanase Renoux, Le codex arménien Jérusalem 121, 2 vol., PO 35.1, 36.2 [Turnhout, 1969, 1971]). The later Georgian Lectionary – a witness to Jerusalem practices ca. 600 CE – attests a different octave pattern involving Christmas, Easter and the Encaenia (Georgian and Latin text in Michel Tarchnischvili, Le grand lectionnaire de l’Église de Jérusalem II, texte géorgien, 4 vol., CSCO 188-9, 204-5, Scriptores Iberici 9-10, 13-4 [Leuven, 1959, 1960]).

Studia Patristica CXXV, 51-63. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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and at each celebration, officiants read psalms, epistles and gospels appropriate to the themes of the week. During the Epiphany octave, which was a nativity celebration in Jerusalem, those readings focused on Jesus’ birth.2 During Pascha/ Easter, those readings focused on Jesus’ resurrection. At least three days in these octaves broke from this pattern, however, incorporating very different readings than the days around them. One such day was the sixth day of the Epiphany octave (Epiphany VI, or 11 January), then celebrated in the so-called Lazarium church, adjacent to the purported tomb of Lazarus in Bethany.3 According to the Old Armenian Lectionary (AL) – a witness to the ritual practices of the Jerusalem church between 456 and 479 CE – the readings appointed for that day focused not on Jesus’ birth but on the miraculous raising of Lazarus from the dead.4 Epiphany VI was, in fact, the only day on which the Jerusalem church read the gospel describing that miracle: On the sixth day we gather at the Lazarium, and this canon is executed: LXX Ps. 29. Antiphon: ‘Lord you have brought up my soul from hell; you have saved me from those who go down into the pit.’ (v. 4) 1Thess. 4:13-5:11 Alleluia, Ps. 39 John 11:1-46

Currently, there is no scholarly consensus on the meaning of this mysterious celebration. Since the day is numbered among the liturgies of the Epiphany octave, some writers are inclined to see it as a celebration of Jesus’ birth, albeit with readings appropriate for the Lazarium church.5 Others speculate that the 2 Jerusalem resisted the 25 December Christmas feast into the sixth century, clinging to the older practice of celebrating Jesus’ birth on 6 January (Michel van Esbroeck, ‘La lettre de l’empereur Justinien sur l’Annonciation et la Noël en 561’, AB 86 [1968], 351-71; M. van Esbroeck, ‘Encore la lettre de Justinien: Sa date: 560 et non 561’, AB 87 [1969], 442-4). 3 On this basilica, the first upon the site, see Sylvester J. Saller, Excavations at Bethany (19491953), PSBF 12 (Jerusalem, 1957), 9-34. The other two exceptions are the ‘second day’ of the Epiphany octave (Epiphany II) and the third day of the Paschal octave (Pascha III), both observed in Eudocia’s church of St Stephen (AL 3, 47 [A. Renoux, Codex arménien [1969, 1971], 2:216-7, 314-5]). 4 AL 7 (A. Renoux, Codex arménien [1969, 1971], 2:220-1). On the origins and date of AL, see Hugo Méndez, ‘Revising the Date of the Armenian Lectionary of Jerusalem’, JECS 29 (2021), 69-92. 5 John Baldovin assumes that ‘readings tended to be chosen more for their association with place than thematic development’, so that on Epiphany VI ‘the station at the Lazarium … was apparently more significant than festal themes in determining the reading for the day’ (Liturgy in Ancient Jerusalem, Alcuin / GROW Liturgical Study 9 [Bramcoate, Nottingham, 1989], 37). See similar analyses in Harald Buchinger, ‘Die vielleicht älteste erhaltene Predigt auf das Epiphaniefest: Vier syrische Fragmente des Titus von Bostra (CPG 3578)’, in Diliana Atanassova and Tinatin Chronz (eds), Συναξις Καθολικη. Beiträge zu Gottesdienst und Geschichte der fünf altkirchlichen Patriarchate für Heinzgerd Brakmann zum 70. Geburtstag, Orientalia ‒ Patristica ‒ Oecumenica 6.1-2 (Vienna, 2014), I 65-86, 77-9; Marchita Mauck, ‘The Christmas Octave Feasts of St. Stephen,

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day broke from the themes of the octave altogether, and served as something like ‘a commemoration of the raising of Lazarus’.6 The debate remains stalled because scholars have never found an external artifact of this feast or direct witness to it such that could clarify its prevailing foci and themes. In this article, however, I will argue that we actually possess such an artifact – a single homily preached on the day in question. In his edited collection of the festal homilies of Hesychius of Jerusalem (d. after 451), Michel Aubineau reproduces two sermons on the raising of Lazarus: Hom. 11 and Hom. 12.7 He correctly determines that the two homilies were preached in the so-called Lazarium church in Bethany – the most appropriate setting for an extended reflection on Lazarus’ raising.8 He also concludes that the two pieces were also delivered on the same occasion – specifically, the Saturday immediately before Palm Sunday (Lazarus Saturday).9 As I will demonstrate below, however, Aubineau is incorrect on this second point. The two sermons were not delivered on the same occasion; rather, they were preached on two different days on the Jerusalem calendar. Whereas Hom. 11 was indeed delivered on the Saturday before Palm Sunday (Lazarus Saturday), Hom. 12 was almost certainly preached on the day of interest to us: Epiphany VI. When we introduce Hom. 12 to discussions of the Epiphany VI feast, we learn that the feast was as complex and multifaceted in its focus as the above evidence suggests. The day was an extension of the Epiphany season, but it also more or less doubled as the annual celebration of Jesus’ raising of Lazarus. In short, Hom. 12 offers us a sort of both/and clarification of the focus of this celebration. 1. The Feasts of Lazarus in Jerusalem At the outset, it is important to understand why Aubineau would have difficulty assigning Hom. 12 to one of Epiphany VI or Lazarus Saturday. As attested in the lectionary, those celebrations are virtual duplicates of one another: St. John, and the Holy Innocents’, in Gilbert Ostdiek (ed.), Finding Voice to Give God Praise: Essays in the Many Languages of the Liturgy (Collegeville, 1998), 23-35, 25. 6 Nicholas Russo, ‘The Origins of Lent’ (PhD diss., University of Notre Dame, 2009), 230. Thomas Talley says along similar lines that the day was dedicated to ‘commemorating the raising of Lazarus’ (Origins of the Liturgical Year [New York, 1986], 181). 7 The date of Hesychius’ death is contested. See discussion in Lieve Van Hoof, Panigiotis Manafis and Peter Van Nuffelen, ‘Hesychius of Jerusalem, Ecclesiastical History [CPG 6582]’, GRBS 56 (2016), 505-11. The critical text of these homilies, in turn, appears with introductions and French translations in Michel Aubineau, Les homélies festales d’Hésychius de Jérusalem, 2 vol., Subsidia hagiographica 59 (Bruxelles, 1978, 1980), I 369-462. 8 M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 386-7, 441. 9 The later Georgian Lectionary refers to the day as ‘the commemoration of Lazarus’ (GL 571 [M. Tarchnischvili, Grand lectionnaire [1959, 1960], I 99; II 80).

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Table 1. Lazarus-related feasts in AL10 Epiphany IV

Lazarus Saturday

On the sixth day we gather at the Lazarium, We gather at the Lazarium, and this canon and this canon is executed: is executed – the sixth day before the Passover (of the Law,) Saturday… LXX Ps. 29. Antiphon: ‘Lord you have brought up my soul from hell; you have saved me from those who go down into the pit’ (v. 4)

LXX Ps. 29. Antiphon: ‘Lord you have brought up my soul from hell; you have saved me from those who go down into the pit.’

1Thess. 4:13-5:11

1Thess. 4:13-8

Alleluia, LXX Ps. 39

Alleluia, LXX Ps. 39

John 11:1-46

John 11:55-12:11

Both days were observed in the church adjacent to Lazarus’ tomb. Consequently, one could imagine homilies preached on either day mentioning the story of Lazarus’ raising in John 11:1-46, whether or not that reading was the appointed gospel for the day. The two feasts also share nearly all the same readings, all appropriate for a commemoration of Jesus’ raising of Lazarus. Both, for instance, appoint a recitation of LXX Ps. 29, with the resurrection-themed antiphon, ‘Lord, you have brought up my soul from hell, and you have saved me from those who go down into the pit’ (v. 4). Similarly, both also share a resurrection-themed psalm with ‘Alleluia’ as a refrain, in which the psalmist praises God for having ‘raised me from the pit’ (LXX Ps. 39:3). The two celebrations also appoint an epistle reading from 1Thessalonians. Although the two epistles are not identical, the differences between them are minor. Both readings begin at 1Thess. 4:13, and reproduce the epistle’s description of the eschatological resurrection of the dead: ‘for the Lord himself will descend from heaven … and the dead in Christ will rise first’ (4:16) Only the ending of the two epistles distinguishes them; the epistle for Lazarus Saturday is limited to ends at 4:18, while the epistle for Epiphany VI extends to 5:11.11 The most significant difference between the two celebrations is the choice of the gospel lection, taken in each case from John. The passage appointed for Epiphany VI recounts the raising of Lazarus (11:1-46). By contrast, the gospel for Lazarus Saturday describes a later meal Jesus shared with the family of Lazarus – the meal at which Mary anoints the feet of Jesus for the day of his burial and after which Judas joins ‘the chief priests’ in plotting Jesus’ death 10

AL 7, 33 (A. Renoux, Codex arménien [1969, 1971], II 220-1, 254-5). The reason for the difference is unclear, though the longer epistle’s passing reference to ‘salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ’ (1Thess. 5:9) might have made it more suitable for the Epiphany. 11

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(11:55-12:11). That text, however, contains a brief, passing reference to Jesus’ earlier raising of Lazarus, adding a final layer of overlap to the two feasts: Now the Passover of the Jews was at hand, and many went up from the country to Jerusalem before the Passover … the chief priests and the Pharisees had given orders that if anyone knew where he was, he should let them know, so that they might arrest him. Six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. There they made him a supper; Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at table with him. Mary took a pound of costly ointment of pure nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair… (John 11:55-12:3)

2. The Occasion of Hesychius’ Homilies In S. Lazarum Since homilies preached for either Epiphany VI or Lazarus Saturday could have mentioned Lazarus’ resurrection, Aubineau proposes a different criterion to tell them apart. Specifically, he insists that one should consider whether these homilies mention events particular to the Lazarus Saturday gospel, including the meal at Bethany and the plot to kill Lazarus (John 11:55-12:11). No element of the Epiphany VI celebration directly alludes to those incidents. In this case, Aubineau reasons, a homily would only refer to these events if it was preached on their liturgical ‘anniversary’ – that is, Lazarus Saturday.12 Aubineau on Hom. 11 When Aubineau applies his criterion to Hom. 11, he finds a match for Lazarus Saturday gospel. At the very outset of the sermon, the homilist seems to cast the eucharistic liturgy celebrated at the Lazarium as nothing less than a participation in the supper Jesus shared with Lazarus, Martha, and Mary: This is a sumptuous supper Lazarus has again set before us today, a supper in which all is wonderful, flowered and beautiful … for the Father dresses the table, the Son serves the wine, and the Spirit fragrances the banquet. And the angels stand guard at the bridal chamber, and do not permit Judas to enter, nor Caiaphas to peer in, driving away the hypocrites while they are still far off, repelling the murderers of the Lord with cruel and terrible whips…13

Within the same paragraph, Aubineau detects two more allusions to the gospel for Lazarus Saturday. In his view, Hesychius’ comment that ‘the Spirit fragrances [μυρίζει] the banquet’ evokes Mary’s anointing the feet of Jesus until ‘the house was filled with the fragrance of the ointment [τοῦ μύρου]’ (12:3). 12 13

M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 388-9. Hesych. H., Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 402-3).

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Secondly, the negative reference to Judas recalls Jesus’ rebuke of Judas at the end of the gospel lection (12:4-9).14 To Aubineau’s insights, we might add yet another – namely, the juxtaposition of this mention of ‘Judas’ with references to ‘the murderers of the Lord’ and ‘Caiaphas’ (as in 11:49-52; 18:24), each of which evoke the passion narrative. No less striking is Hesychius’ recasting of this eucharistic ‘supper’ as a celebration within the ‘bridal chamber’ (νυμφῶνος). Later in the same homily, Hesychius expressly relates this image to the entombment of Christ.15 Viewed in this light, the recasting of the eucharist as a supper within the ‘bridal chamber’ suggests the celebration’s anticipation of the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. That these references appear in the opening lines of the homily is especially important. Hesychius characteristically nods towards the occasion of a celebration at or near the beginning of his homilies.16 The sum of this evidence, then, supports Aubineau’s conclusion: this homily was a reflection preached immediately before Holy Week, on Lazarus Saturday. Aubineau on Hom. 12 As confident as Aubineau is of the occasion of Hom. 11, he is that much more confident of the occasion of Hom. 12.17 First, and in a clear parallel to Hom. 11, Hesychius opens that piece with the image of the church assembling for a banquet in Bethany: ‘I love this place of the Church, where she gathers this spiritual banquet [συμπόσιον] for me; it is truly a divine banquet [συμπόσιον] because it quenches thirst with a mystical chalice and nourishes with a life-giving lamb’.18 Once again, Aubineau argues that this imagery makes best sense against a gospel describing Jesus’ supper at the house of Lazarus ‘six days before the Passover’. To this line of evidence, Aubineau adds a second – and in his view, stronger – proof. Midway through the homily, Hesychius reflects for a brief period on the 14

M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 389. ‘He came out of the bridal chamber of the royal tomb’ (Hesych. H., Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum 10 [M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 418-9]; see also Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum 2 [ibid. I 406-7]). 16 E.g., ‘This feast is called the feast of the purification’ (Hesych. H., Hom. 1, De Hypapante 1 [M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 24]); ‘Every commemoration of the just is worthy of all praise … but the present day of celebration surpasses them; it is indeed an assembly in honor of a virgin who surpasses all women’ (Hesych. H., Hom. 6, In S. Maria Deipara 1 [ibid. I 194]); ‘An apostolic trumpet has brought us together for the feast’ (Hesych. H., Hom. 9, In S. Andream 1 [ibid. I 240]); ‘How should one celebrate in praise the servant and brother of Christ?’ (Hesych. H., Hom. 9, In Ss. Iacobum et David 2 [ibid. I 368]); ‘In Stephen’s honor, let all the earth celebrate his feast’ (Hesych. H., Hom. 9, In S. Stephanum 1 [ibid. I 328]). 17 On the occasion of Hom. 12, Aubineau insists, ‘no doubt is possible’ (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 441). 18 Hesych. H., Hom. 12, In S. Lazarum 1 (M. Aubineau, Homélies, I 448-9). 15

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plot ‘to put Lazarus also to death, because on account of him many of the Jews were going away and believing in Jesus’ (John 12:10).19 For Aubineau, such a reflection would have made sense on only one day of the year – the day on which the text in question was read: Lazarus Saturday. He concludes, then, that ‘Homily 12 like homily 11, was … preached by Hesychius outside Jerusalem, in Bethany, on the Saturday before Palm Sunday’.20 Rethinking Hom. 12 Aubineau’s discussion of Hom. 11 is convincing. His discussion of Hom. 12, by contrast, should be revised. The problem, I would argue, lies not so much in the evidence Aubineau marshals from the sermon as in the evidence he overlooks. Immediately after the opening line of the homily – the very line Aubineau connects to the meal at Bethany – Hesychius connects the meal to a number of images associated with Jesus’ birth: I love this place of the Church where she gathers this spiritual banquet for me; it is truly a divine banquet because it quenches thirst with a mystical chalice and feeds with a life-giving lamb. Because the king of angels has indeed come to dwell on earth, banquet and delights were prepared for believers and the affliction of nature was turned against the purveyor of affliction, from the time that commences with the advent of the Savior. Nature, which immediately received the ability to perceive the light of the Master, was from the beginning full of joy and excitement. The fruit that the sterile wombs of the precursors of grace had conceived rejoice with glee in it. ‘For the infant indeed leaped with joy in it’. Because of the virginal birth, heaven above by a star called the Magi, the earth was full of angels who rejoiced with the inhabitants of the earth…21

Hesychius compares the festivity of the meal to the ‘glee’ of Elizabeth and Mary, whose ‘sterile wombs … had conceived’ and to the ‘joy’ of a pre-natal John the Baptist (Luke 1:5-80). He weaves in references to the Magi (Matt. 2:1-12) and to the appearance of a multitude of angels to the shepherds (Luke 2:12-5). Most tellingly of all, Hesychius claims that the eucharistic meal about to be shared is occasioned by the fact that Jesus ‘has come to dwell on earth’. It is difficult to understand why Hesychius would have included such extensive references to Jesus’ birth in a homily delivered immediately before Holy Week. But these images make perfect sense for a homily preached during the Epiphany octave. In late ancient Jerusalem – a city that resisted the 25 December Christmas feast into the sixth century – the Epiphany was the feast of Jesus’ birth. It is precisely on that week that the church of Jerusalem read a cyclical course of the infancy narratives of Matthew and Luke – the very narratives Hesychius weaves into his homily: 19 20 21

Ibid. 7 (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 456-7). M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 442. Hesych. H., Hom. 12, In S. Lazarum 1 (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 448).

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Table 2. Gospels in the Epiphany Octave According to AL22 Day

Gospel

Epiphany I, Vigil

Matt. 2:1-12

Epiphany I, Day

Matt. 1:18-25

Epiphany II

Special gospel (Stephen): John 12:24-6

Epiphany III

Matt. 2:13-23

Epiphany IV

Luke 1:26-38

Epiphany V

Luke 1:39-56

Epiphany VI

Special gospel (Lazarus): John 11:1-46

Epiphany VII

Luke 2:1-7

Epiphany VIII

Luke 2:21

No less relevant than what these lines contain are the many images these lines lack. In the opening lines of Hom. 12 – the lines in which Hesychius characteristically establishes the occasion of his sermons – not a single link to Lent or Holy Week appears. This is in stark contrast to Hom. 11, which is replete with references to the gospel passion narratives. But what of Aubineau’s second argument: that the homily (eventually) engages a text read only on Lazarus Saturday, John 12:10? In this case, Aubineau overstates the relevance of such citations. As a general rule, one cannot presume that a certain scripture was read on a particular day from its citation in a homily; homilists have always had the freedom to cite whatever passages they deemed relevant, whether or not those passages were read at that liturgy. To take a single example, in Hom. 11, Hesychius reflects on Ps. 18 for ‘about a quarter of the homily’, even though there is no evidence it formed part of the Lazarus Saturday canon.23 In this case, we should discard Aubineau’s analysis of Hom. 12. That sermon was not a reflection for Lazarus Saturday. It was, instead, a sermon delivered during the Epiphany octave, and more specifically on the Epiphany VI celebration at the Lazarium attested in AL. 3. A Celebration of the Raising of Lazarus If Hom. 12 is an artifact of Epiphany VI, then it becomes a crucial witness to the actual meaning of that day in fifth-century Jerusalem. As it turns out, its 22

AL 1-9 (A. Renoux, Codex arménien [1969, 1971], II 210-24). M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), 375; Hesych. H., Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum 8-11 (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978-1980], I 416-20). 23

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witness supports the idea that the station had taken on a more complex and distinct cast relative to the days around it. Although the homily’s introductory lines acknowledge the liturgy’s Epiphany context, no further references to Jesus’ birth appear in the piece. Instead, most of the homily focuses exclusively on the miraculous raising of Lazarus, as even a cursory glance at the section titles in Aubineau’s critical edition reveals: Table 3. Hom. 12 Paragraph Titles (per Aubineau)24 1. ‘Christ inaugurates an era of grace, from his incarnation’ 2. ‘Among so many miracles, the resurrection of Lazarus’ 3. ‘Re-composition and reanimation of Lazarus’ body’ 4. ‘Lazarus, come out!’ 5. ‘Lamentation of Hades’ 6. ‘Lazarus and his bandages…’ 7. ‘The envy of the Jews, who decide to kill Lazarus’ 8. ‘Christ, medicine of death’ 9. ‘Resurrection of the dead and judgment’ 10. ‘Exhortation to asceticism in expectation of the judgment’

The homily’s focus on Lazarus is all the more striking in a comparative analysis. The homily has no significant points of contact with the only other homily to survive from Hesychius’ pen for a date within the Epiphany octave – that is, Hom. 6.25 It does, however, have strong overlap with Hom. 11, which was delivered on Lazarus Saturday. For instance, Lazarus’ resurrection forms the central arc of both pieces.26 Both sermons include long meditations on Jesus’ command, ‘Lazarus, come out!’27 Both ventriloquize underworld figures who watch Lazarus depart.28 And both repeatedly stress the ‘haste’ of the resurrected Lazarus, imagining him leaping out of the tomb ‘as if supported by wings’.29 Evidently, Hesychius saw stronger thematic resonances between Epiphany VI and Lazarus Saturday than between Epiphany VI and other days of the same octave. 24

M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 448-62. Ibid. I 184-6. Hom. 6 was preached for Epiphany IV. 26 Hesych. H., Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum 2-13 (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 404-24, 418); Hesych. H., Hom. 12, In S. Lazarum 3-6 (ibid. I 450-6). 27 Hesych. H., Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum 2-4 (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 404-8); Hesych. H., Hom. 12, In S. Lazarum 3-4 (ibid. I 450-2). 28 Hesych. H., Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum 6-8 (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 412-6); Hesych. H., Hom. 12, In S. Lazarum 5 (ibid. I 452-4). 29 Hesych. H., Hom. 11, In S. Lazarum 4, 6, 11 (M. Aubineau, Homélies [1978, 1980], I 406, 410, 418); Hesych. H., Hom. 12, In S. Lazarum 2, 4 (ibid. I 450-2). 25

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In this case, it would seem that the readings found in AL were not merely ‘chosen more for their association with place than thematic development’.30 Quite the contrary, Hom. 11 demonstrates that Epiphany VI had a somewhat different thematic orientation than the days around it. The day was not merely a continuation of the Epiphany season, but an occasion for sustained, dedicated reflection on the raising of Lazarus. It was, for all practical purposes, a commemoratio resuscitatio Lazari.31 In this case also, it is likely that the church of Jerusalem altered the day’s readings precisely to recast the themes of the day. 4. Origins of the Celebration The insight that Epiphany VI had a different cast than the stations surrounding it aggravates an old problem in the study of this celebration – namely, its origins. It begs us to ask: why does the day differ from others in the same octave? When or how did its unique features arise? There are good reasons for thinking the celebration was not always as complex as is it appears in AL and Hom. 12, but that it emerged as a simple octave station, fully embedded in the week-long celebration of the Epiphany. Writing in the late fourth century, Egeria notes the presence of a station at the Lazarium during the octave (then on Epiphany V) but does not distinguish it from other celebrations in the week.32 At this early stage, the day might have had different readings than those attested in AL. In fact, it is not particularly difficult to determine what at least one of those readings might have been. The gospel recounting the raising of Lazarus stands over a gap in an obvious cursus reading of Luke: the narrative of John the Baptist’s birth (Luke 1:57-80).33 Presumably, that lection – or at least part of it – was once read on the sixth day of the Epiphany: 30

Baldovin, Liturgy (1989), 37. Although Hesychius does not speak of Epiphany VI as a ‘commemoration’ or ‘feast’ of the raising of Lazarus, he might well have felt comfortable using this language. In Hom. 6, Hesychius calls Epiphany IV a ‘commemoration’ of Mary merely because the gospel of the day – part of the Epiphany infancy cursus – describes Mary’s visit to Elizabeth (Hesych. H., Hom. 6, In S. Maria Deipara 1 [M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 194]). Similarly, in Hom. 12, Hesychius asserts that the church of Jerusalem celebrated multiple ‘feasts’ for Stephen, citing the psalm antiphon characteristic of these days: ‘It is we who owe [Stephen] more numerous feasts … we frequently hold festal spectacles for him … reciting the vintage song: “Lord, you have crowned us as with a shield of good will” [LXX Ps. 5:13]’ (Hesych. H., Hom. 9, In S. Stephanum 3 [ibid. I 328-31]). That antiphon appears three times in the Armenian Lectionary – namely, on Epiphany II, Pascha III, and 27 December. Evidently, Hesychius recognized all these days as ‘feasts’ for Stephen. 32 Itin. Eg. 25.11 (CChr.SL 175, 72; A. McGowan and P. Bradshaw, Egeria [2018], 158). 33 N. Russo, ‘Origins of Lent’ (2009), 232. 31

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Table 4. Reconstructed Epiphany IV-VII (Fourth Century) Day

Station (per Egeria34)

Gospel

Epiphany IV

Eleona

Luke 1:26-38

Epiphany V

Lazarium

Luke 1:39-56

Epiphany VI

Sion

*Luke 1:57-80

Epiphany VII

Anastasis

Luke 2:1-7

In the same period, Jerusalem probably memorialized the raising of Lazarus on a different day – namely, Lazarus Saturday. Nicholas Russo points out that Cyril of Jerusalem references the raising of Lazarus in his eighteenth catechetical lecture, likely delivered on Lazarus Saturday.35 I believe evidence of the same gospel appears in the Itinerarium Egeriae. In her descriptions of Holy Week, Egeria notes that the church of Jerusalem celebrated a series of stations on the Saturday immediately before Palm Sunday. The first was a service ‘on that spot where Mary the sister of Lazarus met with the Lord’, in which ‘that gospel is read where the sister of Lazarus meets the Lord’.36 That passage, including at least the material following John 11:30, stands immediately before the account of the miraculous raising.37 In turn, Egeria notes that after the first service was concluded, worshippers processed to the Lazarium for a liturgy at ‘the seventh hour’. Egeria does not indicate the focus of this celebration, but she does say that the service was exceptionally well attended, and that ‘hymns and antiphons appropriate to the day and place are … recited, similarly also readings all appropriate to the day are read’.38 Presumably, those readings included the account of the raising of Lazarus. The entire sequence of stations suggests a dramatic, step-by-step celebration of the Bethany miracle, following the narrative of John 11. No less relevant is Egeria’s description of the conclusion of the second service; she writes that ‘before the dismissal … the priest ascends to a higher place and ‘reads that passage that is written in the gospel: “When Jesus had come to Bethany six days before the Passover…” [John 12:1]’.39 If the service ended with a reading of John 12:1ff., then the gospel presumably read earlier 34

Ibid. Cyr. H., Cat. Lect. 18.16. See arguments in N. Russo ‘Origins of Lent’ [2009], 238-41. 36 Itin. Eg. 29.4 (CChr.SL 175, 76; A. McGowan and P. Bradshaw, Egeria [2018], 166). 37 As N. Russo deduces, ‘if the station were a commemoration of the raising of Lazarus, we would expect it to take place at the Lazarium itself, in Bethany’ (‘Origin of Lent’ [2009], 233-4). 38 Itin. Eg. 29.5 (CChr.SL 175, 76; A. McGowan and P. Bradshaw, Egeria [2018], 166). Specifically, Egeria adds that ‘on arriving at the Lazarium, so great a multitude assembles that not only the place itself, but also the fields around, are full of people’ (ibid.). The reason the liturgy was so well attended is probably because it was the principal festival at the popular tomb-shrine of Lazarus. 39 Itin. Eg. 29.5 (CChr.SL 175, 76; A. McGowan and P. Bradshaw, Egeria [2018], 166). 35

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in the service would have consisted of the material preceding that passage, including the miracle.40 It is also worth noting that when other cities adopted the same feast, they adopted it precisely as a memorial of the raising of Lazarus.41 Tangentially, we cannot rule out the possibility that in the year Hesychius preached his Lazarus Saturday sermon – Hom. 11 – the day still centered on the gospel describing the raising of Lazarus.42 Hesychius, after all, was active in Jerusalem for several decades prior to the period represented in AL.43 More importantly, despite its nods to a Holy Week context, Hom. 11 engages in an extended, even exegetical, manner with the gospel describing Lazarus’ resurrection. In fact, it is hard to read the homily as anything but an exposition of that gospel; the homily’s entire arc follows Lazarus’ ascent from Hades, as a cursory glance as its structure reveals:44 Table 5. Hom. 11 Paragraph Titles (per Aubineau)45 1. ‘The banquet of the resurrected Lazarus …’ 2. ‘The first man to be resurrected, Lazarus was called back to earth as a witness’ 3. ‘At the sight of [the resurrected] Lazarus, everything will change’ 4. ‘… before leaving, Lazarus asks the dead [for prayer requests]’ 5. ‘Lazarus’ appeals to … Adam [in Hades]’ 6. ‘Pleas of Abel, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, entrusted to Lazarus’ 7. ‘Pleas of Joseph, Moses, and David’ 8. ‘Continuation of David’s plea’ 40 Th. Talley (Origins [1986], 179) and N. Russo (‘Origins of Lent’ [2009], 234) are hesitant to reconstruct the service with a gospel prior to the one Egeria expressly associates with the dismissal, but there is no need for this caution. Egeria mentions that the service had its own ‘readings’ (lectiones), a term ordinarily inclusive of a gospel (Itin. Eg. 37.5 [CChr.SL 175, 81; A. McGowan and P. Bradshaw, Egeria [2018], 166]), and neither Egeria nor AL attest a dismissal gospel displacing a principal (canon) gospel. 41 Although Th. Talley (Origins [1986], 182) speculates that ‘the impetus’ for Lazarus Saturday ‘came from Byzantium’, N. Russo (‘Origins of Lent’ [2009], 230-54) assembles convincing arguments that the feast was native to Jerusalem. 42 In this scenario, Hom. 12 is less a parallel to Hom. 11 than a successor to it. This would certainly explain the numerous points of contact between the pieces. 43 Aubineau does not consider diachronic explanations for discrepancies between Hesychius and AL. Working with Renoux’s early dating of AL (417-439), he merely assumes that Hesychius and AL are contemporary witnesses. 44 Although we cannot presume from a given citation that a certain scripture was read on a particular day, it bears noting that this level of engagement goes well beyond citation. It is one thing to work a text into a homily; it is quite another to articulate an entire homily around a passage that has not even been read. 45 M. Aubineau, Homélies (1978, 1980), I 403-25.

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9. ‘Christological exegesis of Ps. 18:2-4’ 10. ‘Exegesis of Ps. 18:5-6’ 11. ‘End of the exegesis of Ps. 18’ 12. ‘Lazarus before the Jews … and Christ’ 13. ‘Untie [his burial linens] and let him go!’ 14. ‘Lazarus’ message to Caiaphas, Pilate … disciples, myrrh-bearers…’

Nevertheless, by the mid-fifth century – the period of AL – Lazarus Saturday was reduced to a commemoration of Jesus’ supper with Lazarus and his sisters alone.46 The gospel formerly at the dismissal was shifted into the liturgy’s primary canon of readings, and for good reason. Jesus’ supper at the home of Lazarus, Martha, and Mary was the only episode actually set on the ‘sixth day before the Passover’, and thus, a more fitting gospel to take center stage on the day. Meanwhile, the accounts not set on the ‘sixth day before the Passover’, including the raising of Lazarus, were removed and relocated elsewhere. Perhaps church leaders felt they were out of place on that Saturday, or perhaps they felt pressed to reduce the number of liturgies leading up to an already intense week. Athanase Renoux has found evidence of a project of liturgical reform in fifth-century Jerusalem focused on the ‘reduction and “historicization” of rites’.47 In that reform, largely centered on Holy Week, ‘the longest ceremonies have their duration reduced by the removal of stations’, and changes are made ‘to ensure a perfect harmony between … reading and the liturgical event commemorated’.48 The changes made to the Lazarus Saturday services fit this pattern. Whatever their motivations, church leaders were not prepared to eliminate the practice of celebrating the Bethany miracle altogether – not least when the church of Jerusalem possessed a popular shrine articulated around Lazarus’ purported tomb.49 Since the gospel of the raising of Lazarus had no other natural home on the calendar, the church opted to associate it with the only other day on which it utilized the Lazarium – by then, Epiphany VI.50 In the process, they repurposed the day as a successor to the older Lazarus Saturday liturgies – that is, a true celebration of Lazarus’ raising. 46 If, as I have argued above, Hom. 11 represents the older Lazarus Saturday celebration, then we should date these changes to roughly the second quarter of the fifth century. 47 A. Renoux, Codex arménien (1969, 1971), I 184; see also A. McGowan and P. Bradshaw, Egeria [2018], 166, 169, 178. 48 A. Renoux, Codex arménien (1969, 1971), I 184. 49 The existence of a commemoration of Lazarus’ raising in the previous century supports the idea that the church of Jerusalem viewed Epiphany VI as precisely such a celebration. 50 Th. Talley (Origins [1986], 178) speculates that the station was displaced by the introduction of the Martyrium of St Stephen.

His Multi-Lauded Hands: Origin and Evolution of the Hand Element in Liturgical Institution Narratives Barry M. CRAIG, Diocese of Cairns, Australia

ABSTRACT While the biblical accounts of the loaf ritual do not mention hands the majority of institution narratives in anaphoras do, most being embellished by an array of adjectives. It is then noted or dismissed as a non-scriptural addition to the text. Why did it become so predominant, and why in these specific forms? This article, adding to my previous research on the development of the institution narratives, explores this element from its first appearance in Patristic commentaries on the feedings of the multitudes and in the anaphoras from Apostolic Constitutions, revealing yet again the influence of the feedings of the multitudes in Eucharistic thought and texts.

The four biblical Supper narratives (Matt. 26:26-9, Mark 14:22-5, Luke 21:1520, and 1Cor. 11:23-6) share a basic description of meal rituals as identified by the verbs took, blessed or gave thanks,1 broke in the loaf rite,2 and gave, before saying…. In addition each passage has elements that are either shared with another or are unique. Only from the fourth century does the use of an institution narrative appear with certainty in anaphoras, and none is a simple citation of any biblical text;3 they always blend elements from at least two 1 These two terms are used interchangeably in the earliest sources; for convenience this semantic element will be referred to as blessing. 2 A/The loaf, the food item, is more accurate a translation than bread, the foodstuff, and will be used throughout. 3 The earliest are in: Apostolic Constitutions 8.12.36 [Marcel Metzger, Les Constitutions Apostoliques. Livres VII et VIII, SC 336 (Paris, 1986), 196], Testamentum Domini 1.23 [Ignatius Rahmani, Testamentum Domini nostri Jesu Christi (Mainz, 1899), 40-3], and Apostolic Tradition 4 [Bernard Botte, La Tradition Apostolique de Saint Hippolyte: essai de reconstitution, LQF 39 (Münster, 1963), 14-6]. See also Ambrose, De Sacramentis 4.5.21 [ed. Otto Faller, CSEL 73 (Wien, 1955), 13-85, here 55], and Nicetas of Remesiana, Instructio ad Competentes 6.4.21-22,26 [Klaus Gamber, Niceta von Remesiana: Instructio ad Competentes; Frühchristliche Katechesen aus Dacien, Textus Patristici et Liturgici 1 (Regensburg, 1964), 151-2], and Theodore of Mopsuestia, Mystagogical Catechesis 16.15 [Raymond Tonneau and Robert Devreesse, Les Homélies Catéchétiques de Théodore de Mopsueste, Studi e Testi 145 (Città del Vaticano, 1949), 554-6 and Alphonsus Mingana, Commentary of Theodore of Mopsuestia on the Lord’s Prayer and on the Sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist, Woodbrooke Studies 6 (Cambridge, 1933), 105-6 and 245].

Studia Patristica CXXV, 65-74. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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biblical sources, and, due to the tendency toward symmetry,4 they often exchange elements between the loaf and cup units.5 The anaphoral forms also contain elements not contained in the biblical Supper accounts, but these have often been dismissed as non-scriptural additions without considering that passages other than the Supper narratives may have influenced the evolution of eucharistic practice and texts. Paul Cagin in 1912,6 and then Fritz Hamm in 1929,7 compared the Supper and common liturgical institution narratives, but both did this via Latin translations, and both omitted other loaf-rite evidence in canonical and non-canonical scriptures and from early eucharistic evidence in non-canonical sources. With more anaphoras and other texts now available to scholars it is opportune to research the evolution of the liturgical institution narratives anew, this time in the original languages (thus allowing for more detailed linguistic comparisons) and including all related sources. To that end I am assembling a database of texts, at present containing more than 80 anaphoral institution narratives in Greek, Syriac,8 Latin (setting aside modern compositions), Coptic, and Armenian, and with some Ethiopian ones via translations,9 along with all canonical scripture passages in the same languages and in patristic testimony, and non-canonical scripture (thus far restricted to Greek, Syriac and Latin texts). 4 Baumstark’s fifth law as compiled by Robert F. Taft, ‘Comparative Liturgy Fifty Years after Anton Baumstark (d. 1948). A Reply to Recent Critics’, Worship 73 (1999), 521-40, 526. 5 E.g., all language groups tend to combine the verbs for blessing and giving thanks, while ‘for the forgiveness of sins’ from the cup unit in Matthew 26:28 is first evidenced in the distribution formulae in bread-only eucharists in Martyrdom of Matthew 27 (1st Greek recension and Latin) [Richard A. Lipsius and Max Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, 2.1 (1898), 257-8], Acts of (Judas) Thomas 49-50 and 133 [William Wright, Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 1, The Syriac Texts (London, 1871), 217-9 (Õٍ-Ïٍ), 301-2 (Äý-¿ý)], and is later found in the bread unit in most anaphoras in all languages except Latin. 6 Paul Cagin, L’Euchologie latine étudiée dans la tradition de ses formules et de ses formulaires, 2, L’Eucharistia: canon primitif de la messe ou formulaire essentiel et premier de toutes les liturgies, Scriptorium Solesmense 2 (Roma, Paris, Tournai, 1912); comparative table and notes 224-51. 7 Fritz Hamm, Die liturgischen Einsetzungsberichte im Sinne der vergleichenden Liturgieforschung untersucht, Liturgiegeschichtliche Quellen und Forschungen 23 (Münster in Westfalen, 1928). 8 Obtaining these is difficult. Alphonsus Raes listed 70 (also noting variant names) in his introduction in Anaphorae Syriacae [=AS] (Rome, 1939-1981), I.1, xi-xiv, indicated hereafter as (Raes x/70), but there are lacunae, and only 22 were published in the incomplete series and were numbered according to order of publication. Others published by Athanasius Y. Samuel and Murad S. Barsom, Anaphoras: The Book of the Divine Liturgies according to the Rite of the Syrian Orthodox Church of Antioch (New York, 1991), and others may be found individually in various printed Missals and manuscripts. Some are available in Latin translation in Eusebe Renaudot, Liturgiarum Orientalium Collectio (Frankfurt, London, 1847) [= LOC]. 9 Eighteen institution narratives with translations in Latin or German are found in Ernst Hammerschmidt, Studies in the Ethiopic Anaphoras, Berliner Byzantinistische Arbeiten 25 (Berlin, 1987), 111-27. Fourteen anaphoras in current use and translated into English are available in Marcos Daoud and Blatta Marsie Hazen, Liturgy of the Ethiopian Church (revised 2006): www.ethiopianorthodox. org/english/church/englishethiopianliturgy.pdf (accessed August 2019), hereafter LEC.

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This research has already revealed that many anaphoral institution narratives have added raising of the eyes or looking up that comes from the accounts of feedings of the multitudes (Matt. 14:19, Mark 6:41, and Luke 9:16),10 new verbs in the semantic field of blessing,11 various specifications of the contents of the cup, and other elements that trace to biblical passages outside the Supper narratives, such as Latin’s peculiar hunc praeclarum calicem from LXX Ps. 22:5-6.12 It also shows an accumulation of synonyms arising from crosslanguage exchanges.13 The addition of interest in this article is the mention of Christ’s hands. First we need to review the ritual elements common to the Supper narratives, defined by the verbal units. Taking functions simply to put its direct object, the loaf or cup, in view before turning to God as direct or dative object of blessing, depending on the verb used. As with most of the feeding accounts and other meal descriptions (Luke 24:30, Acts 27:35 and John 21:13) the blessing praises God but is performed over the food or cup, but none of our texts specifies any objective relationship between the blessing and the food or drink; the connection must either be known culturally or be indicated orally, but none of these sources reports any content of the blessing. The exceptions to this are the textus receptus of Mark 8:7 that has them (the fish) as direct of object of having praised/blessed, and Luke 9:16 with them (the loaves and fish) as direct of objects of he praised/blessed; the Syriac texts correct Mark by omitting an object pronoun, which the Peshitta also does with Luke while the Old Syriac has for/over it/them [Sinaiticus mistakenly in the singular, €ÍÚáï (῾lyhy); Cureton, …{ÍÚáï(῾lyhwn)]. Focus universally returns to the loaf as the direct object of breaking, and the loaf and the cup are each direct objects of giving with the disciples as the recipients. At this point the Supper accounts include interpretative words, the attached saying providing a meaning for the shared loaf and cup, but when or how each is to be understood to have become my body and (the new covenant in) my blood is not explained, nor does it appear to have been of any concern in the primitive Church. It is not only nature that abhors a vacuum; the interstices almost demand insertions to interpret and specify. The biblical texts had no need of mentioning hands since there is no other reasonable way of taking a loaf or cup, but the majority of anaphors do mention hands as an adverbial expansion of taking in the loaf unit; only seven have it in the cup unit, five due to the tendency to symmetry, and one due to the merger 10

Barry M. Craig, ‘He Lifted to You? Lost and Gained in Translation’, SP 92 (2017), 57-64. E.g., the scriptural terms blessing and giving thanks are often combined, and the later sanctifying and signing often join them. 12 Barry M. Craig, ‘Potency, not Preciousness: Cyprian’s Cup and a Modern Controversy’, Worship 81 (2007), 290-313. 13 E.g., ἀναδείξας and €ÎÐ [ḥwy] in the Byzantine and Syriac Basil and James; see B.M. Craig, ‘He Lifted to You’ (2017). 11

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of loaf and cup into a single unit.14 This disparity suggests that we must look for something that links hands specifically to the loaf but not to the cup. The one key semantic area that pertains exclusively to the loaf is breaking, an action of particular importance also in the feedings of the multitudes. This turns out to be an important clue. We also need to attend to how the hands are qualified in the anaphoras. The simplest form possible, in his/your hands,15 is found only four times in the collection.16 The most consistently used adjective, holy, is found in all languages and in about 90% of the texts; it is the sole qualifier in some twenty, mostly Syro-Occidental,17 and about 25% of the remainder add blessed in a redundant pairing.18 The second most common type concerns purity, often combining 14 Irish-Gallican Canon (the cup’s manibus does not match the prior in suis sanctis manibus) [Alban Dold and Leo Eizenhöfer, Das Irische Palimpsestsakramentar im Clm 14429 der Staatsbibliothek München, Text und Arbeiten 53/54 (Beuron, 1964), 15-6]; Roman Canon (symmetrical) and its loose translation in the Maronite Sharar; Syriac John of Saba (Raes 42/70) with merged units [AS 13, v.2.1, 94]; Armenian Gregory (symmetrical) [Latin translation in Peter Ferhat, ‘Denkmäler altarmenischer Messliturgie, 1, Eine dem hl. Gregor von Nazianz zugeschriebene Liturgie’, Oriens Christianus ns 1 (1911), 204-14, 208], Ignatius (nearly symmetrical) [Hans-Jürgen Feulner, Die armenische Athanasius-Anaphora, Anaphorae Orientales 1, Anaphorae Armeniacae 1 (Rome, 2001), 323]; and Sahidic Matthew the Evangelist (symmetrical) [Angelicus M. Kropp, ‘Die koptische Anaphora des heiligen Evangelisten Matthäus’, Oriens Christianus 29 (1932), 111-25, here 115]. 15 Most anaphoras address the Father and so speak of Jesus in the third person; some address Jesus. 16 Syriac Severus of Antioch (Raes 66/70) [AS 2, v.1.1, 66, and A. Samuel, Anaphoras (1991), 415-6], John of Saba (Raes 42/70) [AS 13, v.2.1, 94], and Peter 2 or brevior (Raes 59/70) [A. Samuel, Anaphoras (1991), 189-92]; Ethiopian Epiphanius [M. Daoud, LEC (2006), 131]. 17 Syriac Theodore of Mopsuestia [Jacob Vadakkel, The East Syrian Anaphora of Mar Theodore of Mopsuestia (Kottayam, 1989), 61], Gregory Nazianzen (Raes 25/70) [AS 3, v.1.2, 114-6], John Chrysostom (Raes 41/70) [AS 4, v.1.2, 166], 12 Apostles 1 (Raes 18/70) [AS 5, v.1.2, 216], 12 Apostles 2 (Raes 19/70) [AS 6, v.1.2, 244], Cyril of Jerusalem or Alexandria (Raes 10/70) [AS 9, v.1.3, 340, and a variant in A. Samuel, Anaphoras (1991), 321-2], Jacob of Sarug 1 (Raes 30/70) [AS 10 v.2.1, 18, and A. Samuel, Anaphoras (1991), 355-8], Jacob of Sarug 2 (Raes 31/70) [AS 11, v.2.1, 48], James (minor) (Raes 27/70) [AS 15, v.2.2, 196, and A. Samuel, Anaphoras (1991), 102], John Bostrensis, said to be translated from a Greek original (Raes 40/70) [AS 20, v.3.1, 20], Ignatius of Antioch (Raes 33/70) [E. Renaudot, LOC v.2 (1847), 215-8], Eustathius of Antioch 1 (Raes 20/70) [E. Renaudot, LOC v.2 (1847), 235-9], John the Evangelist (Raes 37/70) [A. Samuel, Anaphoras (1991), 233-4], the Maronite narrative copied from the Roman Canon, and in the added narrative in Addai and Mari in Missel Chaldéen: L’Ordre des Mystères avec les trois anaphores, selon le rite de la Sainte Église de l’Orient, en usage chez les Chaldéens catholiques du patriarcat de Chaldée-Babylone (Paris, 1982); Egyptian Greek Mark [papyrus ms, Manchester John Rylands Library n.465, and Anton Hänggi and Irmgard Pahl, Prex Eucharistica (Fribourg, 1968), 120], and Sahidic Matthew the Evangelist [A.M. Kropp, ‘Koptische Anaphora’ (1932), 115]; Ethiopian Jacob of Sarug [M. Daoud, LEC (2006), 153], and Mark [Hammerschmidt, Studies (1987), 125]; and the Irish-Gallican Canon [A. Dold, Irische Palimpsestsakramentar (1964), 15-6], but it is earlier attested to in Ambrose, de Sacramentis 4.21 and Nicetas of Remesiana, Instr. ad competentes 6.4.21. 18 The Roman and Ambrosian sanctas ac venerabiles manus sua has no direct parallel in the other languages, but venerabilis and sanctus is a well attested idiomatic pairing that will be treated another time.

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positive (pure, clean) and privative forms (spotless, blameless, without blemish, undefiled, sinless, etc.). Very many constellations of such combinations, along with holy, are found in scripture, e.g., Ps. 23:4 (clean/innocent hands and pure heart)19 and Eph. 5:27 (holy and without blemish),20 indicating a fairly general use of this type of expression.21 Philo also provides one in reference to the Passover sacrifice.22 However, it is not always clear whether an adjective belongs to a moral or cultic or physical aspect of purity, and the apparently pleonastic or redundant combinations of them may suggest a desire to cover all possibilities. Once a mention of hands is added to an anaphoral institution narrative and then attracts qualifications in accord with any particular sensibility there are many possible scriptural guides. At first glance these words may suggest priestly and cultic use, but the presumption that their appearance in anaphoras was intended to echo Old Testament sacrificial or priestly language is challenged on noting that in Greek and Syriac (the overlapping languages of the milieu of so many anaphoras and between which much borrowing occurred) the synonyms often translate into more than one semantic field. Thus holiness and sinlessness, as divine attributes, belong to the semantic field of divinity, but sinlessness, blamelessness and the like that may belong to a field of cultic or moral purity are equally divine attributes. As cross-language exchanges continue the translators’ seem reluctant to omit possible nuances, and this leads to a branching and a multiplying of semantic fields. The third and final group of adjectives in a little fewer than 20% of the gathered anaphoras clearly belong to that already mentioned field of divinity, namely divine, life-giving, creative, immortal, and all-powerful.23 Armenian LXX Ps. 23:4: ἀθῷος χερσὶν καὶ καθαρὸς τῇ καρδίᾳ. All following translations are mine. ἵνα παραστήσῃ αὐτὸς ἑαυτῷ ἔνδοξον τὴν ἐκκλησίαν μὴ ἔχουσαν σπίλον ἢ ῥυτίδα ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων ἀλλ’ ἵνα ᾖ ἁγία καὶ ἄμωμος; that he might present the Church to himself in splendour, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing but that she might be holy and without blemish. 21 Similar combinations are found elsewhere in the Roman Canon, in the Te igitur before the narrative haec sancta sacrificia illibata [these holy unblemished sacrifices] and in the Unde et memores following the narrative, hostiam puram, hostiam sanctam, hostiam immaculatam [the pure victim, the holy victim, the spotless victim]. 22 Philo, De specialibus legibus 2.145, LCL 320, 394-5: he refers to the worship offered at Passover, saying, μετὰ πάσης ἀδείας ἁγναῖς χερσίν ἱερουργεῖ καὶ ἱερᾶται [with all impunity (and) pure/holy/guiltless hands performs sacred rites also as a priest]. 23 Armenian Athanasius [J. Feulner, Armenische Athanasius-Anaphora (2001), 186-9], Gregory [P. Ferhat, ‘Denkmäler, 1’ (1911), 208-9], Sahak (Isaac) [Gabriele Winkler, Die armenische Liturgie des Sahak, Anaphorae Orientales 3, Anaphorae Armenicae 3 (Rome, 2011), 77], Cyril of Alexandria [Adolf Rücker, ‘Denkmäler altarmenischer Messliturgie, 4, Die Anaphora des Patriarchen Kyrillos von Alexandria’, Oriens Christianus 3 (1926), 143-57], Basil 1 (Grigor Lusaworič‘) [Gabriele Winkler, Die Basilius-Anaphora, Anaphorae Orientales 2, Anaphorae Armeniacae 2 (Rome, 2005), 162-7], and Ignatius [J. Feulner, Athenasius-Anaphora (2001), 323]; Syriac Gregory John (Raes 24/70), Syriac’s sole known instance of divine [AS 16, v.2.2, 218]; Byzantine James, Greek’s sole instance of immortal [B. Charles Mercier, La liturgie de Saint Jacques, 19

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stands out as the only language to use all these (in his holy, divine, immortal, spotless/pure and life-giving/creative hands) in its sole anaphora in use (Athanasius) while the now obsolete ones had variants in various combinations.24 All the ancient liturgical traditions, but not all their anaphoras, mention hands, the earliest known being Ap Cons 8.12.36: in his holy and blameless hands (ταῖς ἁγίαις καὶ ἀμώμοις αὐτοῦ χερσὶν). Most qualify the hands at least as holy, and then all but the Latins refer about half the time in various ways to their sinlessness or purity; the Copts, Ethiopians and mostly notably the Armenians clearly specify divine creativity, perhaps indicating a response to Miaphysite or Monophysite controversies. When viewed for what is common rather than what is different, the variously combined adjectives trend towards indicating Christ’s divinity. As we follow the earlier clue to look to patristic handling of the feedings of the multitudes we do indeed find the points raised above. In a figurative reading of the accounts of the feeding of the 5,000 the five loaves are held to signify the Pentateuch, the Law, also said to contain hidden meanings such that the Jewish readers and teachers were not able to extract the full meaning. This was supported by noting the specification in John 6:9 and 13 that the loaves were made of barley, considered less nutritious or harder to digest than wheat. The people are said to have been hungry in a way they did not realise; Christ set himself to teach those who had come to him, and in teaching he opened the Law in such a way that for the first time they could extract more benefit and so were properly fed and satisfied; and so thoroughly does Jesus open the Law that there was too much for the people to take in, signified by the surplus fragments gathered into twelve baskets. The apostles themselves are seen as being trained by Christ to be ministers of the word, being taught to open the Law themselves, though at first they thought they were lacking because they did not realise that in having Christ they have the key to understanding. The account Patrologia Orientalis 22.2 (Turnhout, 1974), 200-2]; and the following all have life-giving, Egyptian Greek Mark or Cyril [A. Hänggi, Prex (1968), 136], Bohairic Basil [Achim Budde, Die ägyptische Basilios-Anaphora: Text, Kommentar, Geschichte, Jerusalemer Theologisches Forum 7 (Münster in Westfalen, 2004), 153], Bohairic Gregory [Ernst Hammerschmidt, Die koptische Gregoriosanaphora: Syrische und griechische Einflüsse auf eine ägyptische Liturgie (Berlin, 1957), 34], and Ethiopian Basil [E. Hammerschmidt, Studies (1987), 121], Gregory 1 [Oscar Löfgren and Sebastian Euringer, Die beiden gewöhnlichen äthiopischen Gregorius-Anaphoren, Orientalia Christiana 30.2 (Rome, 1933), 80-119, 86,88, E. Hammerschmidt, Studies (1987), 119, and M. Daoud, LEC (2006), 122, which refers also to his hands both as having been nailed and as having formed Adam]. 24 … ի սուրբ, յաստուածային, յանմահ, յանարատ եւ յարարչագործ ի ձեռս իւր (i sowrb, yastowacayin, yanmah, yanarat ew yararč‘agorc i jeṙs iwr; in his holy, divine, immortal, spotless/ pure and creative hands)…: J. Feulner, Armenische Athanasius-Anaphora (2001), 188. See also Basil 1, G. Winkler, Basilius-Anaphora (2005), 164: … ի սբ, յանարատ, յանապական, յաﬔազաւր ի ձեռս իւր (i sb, yanarat, yanapakan, yameazawr i jeṙs iwr; in his holy, spotless, unstained, all-powerful hands)…

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was seen primarily as a commissioning of the twelve as teachers, metaphorically feeding the people on the word of God that they have received from Christ. As the interpretation was handed on other authors noted that the loaves must have multiplied not in Christ’s hands as he first broke but in the hands of the apostles as they distributed. Origen is the first witness to this interpretation in his Commentary on Matthew 11.1-3.25 He had made a eucharistic link in the preceding section (10.25), drawing a parallel between Jesus healing the people before feeding them and the Christian’s need for spiritual healing before partaking of the ‘Lord’s loaf and his cup’ so as not to do so unworthily.26 Origen also calls the fragments gathered into baskets living bread (11.2, τῶν κλασμάτων ἄρτου ζῶντος). This section begins with what Origen has Jesus in effect say to his disciples, but it reveals an interesting development in the understanding of blessing: 11.1 ‘… Now since I have taught you enough to be able to give logical/rational food [or food of the word] to those in need, you give to the crowds following me to eat, for you have received power from me for giving to the crowds to eat’… 11.2 Then Jesus, because of the power he gave to the disciples also to feed others, said, ‘Give them [something] to eat yourselves’ (Matt. 14:16). … when Jesus takes each loaf, [the] word, he extends it as much as he wills, making it suffice for all whomsoever he wishes to feed…27

The talk of power (δύναμις) to feed others, although here a metaphor for teaching the living word, is of interest for later theology about priests and their role in the Eucharist. More salient points emerge when Origen turns to the variant account in John 6:1-11 with the barley loaves provided by a child rather than the disciples of the synoptic versions: 11.2 … And so long as these five loaves and two fishes were not carried by the disciples of Jesus they neither increased nor multiplied, nor were they able to feed more. But once the Saviour had taken them, firstly he looked up to heaven, with the rays of his eyes as though bringing down power from there to be mixed with the loaves and fishes about to feed the five thousand, and next he blessed (ηὐλόγησε) the five loaves and the two fishes, increasing and multiplying them by the word and the blessing, and thirdly dividing and breaking he gave [them] to the disciples to set them before the 25 Robert Girod, Origène: Commentaire sur l’Évangile selon Matthieu, SC 162 (Paris, 1970), 266-79. 26 Ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐάν τις, δέον ἀκούειν τοῦ … τούτων μὲν μὴ κατακούῃ, ὡς ἔτυχε δὲ μεταλαμβάνῃ ἄρτου κυρίου καὶ ποτηρίου αὐτοῦ, ἀσθενὴς…; But if anyone needing to hear (1Cor. 11:28 etc.) … does not heed these things but partakes anyway of [the] Lord’s loaf and cup (see 1Cor. 11:26-7) he/she sickens… 27 Ἐπεὶ οὖν παιδεύσας ὑμᾶς ἱκανοὺς ἐποίησα πρὸς τὸ διδόναι τοῖς δεομένοις λογικὴν τροφήν, ὑμεῖς δότε τοῖς ἀκολουθήσασί μοι ὄχλοις φαγεῖν· ἔχετε γὰρ δύναμιν ἀπ’ ἐμοῦ λαβόντες τοῦ δοῦναι τοῖς ὄχλοις φαγεῖν, … 2. Ὁ μὲν οὖν Ἰησοῦς, δι’ ἣν ἔδωκε δύναμιν καὶ ἑτέρων θρεπτικὴν τοῖς μαθηταῖς, εἶπε· Δότε αὐτοῖς ὑμεῖς φαγεῖν. … ὅτι ἕκαστον ἄρτον λόγον ὁ Ἰησοῦς λαβὼν εἰς ὅσον βούλεται ἐκτείνει, ποιῶν αὐτὸν διαρκῆ πᾶσιν ὅσους ἐὰν θρέψαι θέλῃ…

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crowds, then the loaves and the fishes were sufficient for all to eat and be satisfied. And some of the loaves that had been blessed (εὐλογηθέντων) they had no room to eat…28

The disciples are highlighted in a particular way, suggesting that the loaves can only achieve their miraculous destination in their unmentioned hands. Shifts in understanding of the ritual are evident: the intransitive verb looking up, with heaven (and God) as the gaze’s locative object, is now the semantic field for orientation to God, not blessing which here has a direct object, the food to be changed in some way by the prayer. There is an emphasis on the power of Jesus to effect this change, a power he gives his disciples. While Origen’s primary concern was about the authority bestowed on the apostles to teach, his language appears to merge teaching authority and creative or sacralising power, with ‘bringing down power from heaven to be mixed’ being very similar to the way later theologians would speak of the power of priests to change bread and wine into the sacramental body and blood of Christ according to his word. As other authors and preachers developed this interpretation the trends already noted above strengthen and hands come to the fore explicitly. Only a small sample is needed here to demonstrate this. Hilary of Poitiers emphasised the apostles’ hands as the place where the loaves miraculously multiplied,29 but Augustine focused on Christ’s hands while making clear the connection to his divine creativity in Tractatus in Ev. Ioannis 24.1: … He has created therefore as God. For while in one place he multiplies the crops from a few grains, here he has multiplied the five loaves in his hands. Indeed there was power in the hands of Christ: for those five loaves were like seeds, not indeed committed to the earth, but multiplied by him who made the earth.30 28 R. Girod, Origène, SC 162, 272 (scripture citations in italic): … Καὶ ὅσον μὲν οἱ πέντε ἄρτοι οὗτοι καὶ οἱ δύο ἰχθύες οὐκ ἐφέροντο ὑπὸ τῶν μαθητῶν τῷ Ἰησοῦ, οὐκ ηὔξανον οὐδὲ ἐπλήθυνον οὐδὲ ἐδύναντο τρέφειν πλείονας· ὅτε δὲ λαβὼν αὐτοὺς ὁ σωτὴρ πρῶτον ἀνέβλεψεν εἰς τὸν οὐρανόν, ταῖς ἀκτῖσι τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν αὐτοῦ οἱονεὶ καταβιβάζων δύναμιν ἐκεῖθεν, τὴν ἀνακραθησομένην τοῖς ἄρτοις καὶ τοῖς ἰχθύσι, μέλλουσι τρέφειν τοὺς πεντακισχιλίους, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο ηὐλόγησε τοὺς πέντε ἄρτους καὶ τοὺς δύο ἰχθύας, τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τῇ εὐλογίᾳ αὔξων καὶ πληθύνων αὐτούς, καὶ τρίτον μερίζων καὶ κλῶν ἔδωκε τοῖς μαθηταῖς, ἵν’ ἐκεῖνοι τοῖς ὄχλοις παραθῶσι, τότε διήρκεσαν οἱ ἄρτοι καὶ οἱ ἰχθύες, ὡς φαγεῖν πάντας καὶ κορεσθῆναι καί τινας τῶν εὐλογηθέντων ἄρτων μὴ χωρῆσαι φαγεῖν… 29 De Trin. 3.6: Pierre Smulders, Hilaire de Poitiers: La Trinité, v.1, SC 443 (Paris, 1999), 344, … Quinque panes offeruntur et franguntur, subrepunt praefringentium manibus quaedam fragmentorum procreationes. Non inminuitur unde praefringitur, et tamen semper praefringentis manum fragmenta occupant. Fallunt momenta uisum: dum plenam fragmentis manum sequeris, alteram sine damno portionis suae contueris; Five loaves are offered and broken; fragments being created slip/pass through the breaking hands. What they are broken from diminishes not, and yet fragments fill the hand of the one breaking. The movements fail the sight: while you follow the hand full of fragments, you behold the other without loss to its part. 30 Radbod Willems, In Iohannis Evangelium Tractatus CXXIV, CChr.SL 36 (Turnhout, 1954), 244: Fecit ergo quomodo Deus. Unde enim multiplicat de paucis granis segetes, inde in manibus

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Around the same time Cyril of Alexandria, while staying closer to Origen, also emphasised Christ’s divine nature and built on the eucharistic association, saying in his Commentary on Matthew, fragment 177 (perhaps on Matt. 14:19): In order that by every means the Lord might be known to be God by nature, he multiplies the few, and he looks to heaven just as one asking for the blessing from above. Now he also does this for household matters, for us. For he himself is the one who fills all things, the blessing from above and from the Father; in order for us to learn that when we preside at table and are about to break up [the] loaves we are bound to turn up to God, laying on hands and bringing down upon them [the loaves] the blessing from above, he became for us [the] origin and model and way of household practice.31

Here οἰκονομικῶς refers to liturgy and liturgical practice. Cyril very clearly associates the actions and result of the multiplication accounts with the celebration of the Eucharist, namely Christ’s looking up to heaven before blessing the loaves (and fishes) in order to multiply them with the eucharistic presider’s bringing heaven’s blessing upon loaves to make them Christ’s body. This demonstrates significant changes to understandings of the Supper and multiplication narratives: looking up, as suggested in Origen, expresses orientation to God, while blessing is now definitely understood not primarily as praise directed to God but as a powerful action performed upon the loaves and fishes or the Eucharist’s loaf and cup in order to change them in particular ways, either creatively multiplying or creatively changing them. Around the same time as Origen there is another hint at this type of development. In Acts of (Judas) Thomas 50, in both the Syriac and Greek texts, after blessing (praise addressed to Christ) the apostle signs/draws the cross on the eucharistic loaf before giving it to the participants to eat (presumably breaking simultaneously).32 That action, which requires the use of at least one hand, is without explanation, but it seems to function in effect as a new semantic field between blessing/praising and breaking and giving so that both God and the loaf each receive particular attention in turn. In fact, this is in effect the case in all anaphoras in the ancient traditions when we note that the texts can be divided into two major parts: the first, the Preface, is the annunciation of praise suis multiplicauit quinque panes. Potestas enim erat in manibus Christi: panes autem illi quinque, quasi semina erant, non quidem terrae mandata, sed ab eo qui terram fecit multiplicata. 31 Joseph Reuss, Matthäus-Kommentare aus der griechischen Kirche, Texte und Untersuchungen 61 (Berlin, 1957), 210-1: Ἵνα διὰ τρόπου παντὸς θεὸς ὢν φύσει ἐπιγινώσκηται, πολυπλασιάζει τὸ βραχύ, βλέπει τε εἰς οὐρανὸν οἷον τὴν ἄνωθεν εὐλογίαν αἰτῶν. ἐποίει δὲ καὶ τοῦτο οἰκονομικῶς δι’ ἡμᾶς. ἔστι μὲν γὰρ αὐτὸς ὁ πάντα πληρῶν, ἡ ἄνωθεν καὶ παρὰ πατρὸς εὐλογία. ἵνα δὲ μάθωμεν ἡμεῖς, ὅτι τραπέζης ἀρχόμενοι καὶ μέλλοντες ἄρτους διακλᾶν θεῷ προσάγειν ὀφείλομεν ὑπτίαις ὥσπερ ἐνθέντες χερσὶ καὶ τὴν ἄνωθεν εὐλογίαν ἐπ’ αὐτοὺς καταφέρειν, ἀρχὴ καὶ τύπος καὶ ὁδὸς τοῦ πράγματος γέγονεν ἡμῖν οἰκονομικῶς. 32 Acts of (Judas) Thomas 50. W. Wright, Apocryphal Acts (1871), 1.219 (Õٍ): ¿ÃÚà‹åý{ œ ¿ćäÑàâï(wršam ṣlyb᾿ ῾l lḥm᾿). A. Hänggi, Prex (1968), 78: διεχάραξεν τῷ ἄρτῳ τὸν σταυρόν. œ Both translate as (and) he signed/drew the cross upon the loaf.

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and thanksgiving to God, in other words the blessing, ending with the doxological Sanctus; the second is all that follows and ends with another doxology, the prayer itself containing in various orders an institution narrative (excepting at least that of Addai and Mari), anamnesis, epiclesis (excepting at least the Roman Canon), and intercessions, as well as incorporating expressions of offering and specifying hoped for fruits of participation in communion, with the priest at various points laying hands on or over the bread and wine and making the sign of the cross one or more times on or over them. In short, the Preface is still a form of blessing as thanks and praise, while the second and longer part of the anaphoras contains both whatever is considered to effect the consecrating of the elements and their being changed into the sacramental body and blood, and whatever is directly related to this. This short article cannot answer why we find all the specific forms of the qualifications of the hands mentioned in the institution narratives of so many anaphoras, and so we cannot rule out the influence from or borrowing of cultic language from the Hebrew scriptures, nor that some are simply pious qualifications derived from general usage. Further work needs to be done through patristic writings to uncover possible direct contributions, especially in the Syriac, Coptic and Armenian sources. However, the observed tendency of the qualifications toward semantic fields expressing divinity did fit well with a key thread of patristic interpretation of the Gospel accounts of the multiplications of the loaves and fishes, and I think the small selection of texts presented above has been sufficient to show something of the influence of those accounts on the developing understanding of the eucharistic liturgy and its presiders. While Christ’s looking upward was inserted into the institution narratives as a direct citation from the multiplication accounts, the added mention of his hands came from the same source but by way of explicatory interpretation. Thus the anaphoral institution narratives, right from their earliest demonstrated use, do not refer only to the Supper accounts; the Supper and multiplication accounts together served as models for understanding and informing liturgical practice.

What’s in a Creed? A New Perspective on Old Texts Wolfram KINZIG, Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität, Bonn, Germany

ABSTRACT In recent years, scholarship on credal texts and formulae has made much progress. In this process, the traditional view about the origin of the Roman creed in particular has come under intense scrutiny. Furthermore, recent studies have, for example, focussed on the influence of the Roman emperors on the development of the creeds and on their use in liturgy and in everyday life. Finally, many new relevant texts have been published. This paper explores to what extent these new insights have changed our overall view of the origin and history of the creeds since J.N.D. Kelly’s famous monograph Early Christian Creeds (third ed. 1972). It reaches the conclusion that it is time for a ‘New Perspective’ on the creeds.

Prologue: Creeds, Councils, and Dead Bodies It1 happened at the Sixth Ecumenical Council in Constantinople on the 26th of April, 681 AD.2 The heavy doors of the imperial palace opened and a solemn procession of imperial and ecclesial dignitaries, members of the council, slowly walked to the inner-court of the Bath of Zeuxippos where a large crowd had already assembled in eager anticipation. In the middle of the court a corpse had been laid out on a silver funeral bier.3

1 Dr. Julia Winnebeck (Bonn) has once more made helpful suggestions and criticisms for which I am very grateful. Prof. Dr. Peter Gemeinhardt (Göttingen) saved me from making a silly mistake and kindly suggested some improvements which I very much appreciated. Dr. Matthew Robinson, Dr. Maria Louise Munkholt Christensen, Susanna Kinzig, and Anna-Maria Schumacher have carefully proofread my manuscript. – In what follows FaFo refers to my collection: Faith in Formulae: A Collection of Early Christian Creeds and Creed-related Texts, 4 vol., Oxford Early Christian Texts (Oxford, 2017). 2 For what follows see Concilium Universale Constantinopolitanum Tertium, Actio XV (FaFo § 582a). 3 As regards the Baths of Zeuxippos see Rodolphe Guilland, ‘Études sur la topographie de Byzance: Les Thermes de Zeuxippe’, Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinischen Gesellschaft 15 (1966), 261-72, esp. 262; Paul Stephenson and Ragnar Hedlund, ‘Monumental waterworks in late antique Constantinople’, in Brooke Shilling and Paul Stephenson (eds), Fountains and Water Culture in Byzantium (Cambridge, 2016), 36-54, 40-2, 48-51.

Studia Patristica CXXV, 75-93. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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When the procession had arrived at the bier, it came to a standstill. A herald announced in a loud voice what was now going to happen. Polychronius, a monk-priest well advanced in years, had claimed that monotheletism and monenergism were true and were, therefore, so powerful that he, Polychronius, was able to raise the corpse on the bier from the dead by means of a creed summarizing this contentious doctrine. The council fathers had decided that it was time to prove this claim in public. Polychronius placed his creed upon the corpse and whispered incomprehensibly to it for several hours. Ultimately, the officials and council fathers grew tired. Nothing remarkable had happened during their long wait; the corpse still lay stock-still where it had been placed. At long last, Polychronius straightened up and admitted, ‘I am unable to raise the corpse’. The crowd reacted by shouting, ‘Let the new Simon [Magus] be anathema; let Polychronius, the deceiver of the people, be anathema’.4 The priest was led back into the council-chamber and was asked whether he wished to hold on to his heretical doctrines. But Polychronius did not yield an inch and persisted, ‘I believe one will and operation of the God-man and say no different’.5 So at the end of the session he was solemnly declared a fraud and a heretic and was stripped of his ministry. Like other leading monotheletes, Polychronius was ultimately exiled to Rome where he was confined to a monastery.6 What shall we make of this story? There is no evidence that the event described here is fictitious.7 Obviously, it had been prepared well in advance.8 The major purpose of the exercise was to convince the adherents of monotheletism among the populace of Constantinople and, in particular, among its monks, of the ineffectiveness of their doctrine.9 The event also suggests that there must have been quite a considerable number of believers who considered it just possible that a creed might revive a dead corpse. As for the council 4 Concilium Universale Constantinopolitanum Tertium, Actio XV (FaFo § 582a): […] ὁ αὐτὸς Πολυχρόνιος εἶπεν· Ἀδυνάτως ἔχω ἐγεῖραι τὸν νεκρόν. Ὁ οὖν παρὼν ἐκεῖσε λαὸς ἀνεβόησε λέγων· Τῷ νέῳ Σίμωνι ἀνάθεμα, Πολυχρονίῳ λαοπλάνῳ ἀνάθεμα. 5 Ibid.: Καθὼς ἔχει τὸ χαρτίον, ὅπερ ἐπιδέδωκα καὶ τέθεικα ἐπάνω τοῦ νεκροῦ, οὕτως πιστεύω ἓν θέλημα καὶ θεανδρικὴν ἐνέργειαν καὶ ἕτερόν τι οὐ λέγω. 6 See Liber pontificalis 81,14 and 82,2 f. (Louis Duchesne, Le Liber Pontificalis: Texte, introduction et commentaire, vol. I [Paris, 1886], 354.6-9; 359.6-360.3). 7 The authors of the relevant entry in the Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen Zeit (see below n. 10) suggest that the acts of the council may have been manipulated but do not appear to doubt the veracity of the account. 8 This becomes clear from the provision of a corpse and the presence of a large crowd which must have been gathered for this purpose. 9 The council had specifically determined that a congregation was to be gathered ‘so that the Christ-loving crowd might be assured that this is how God demonstrates the truth’. See Concilium Universale Constantinopolitanum Tertium, Actio XV (FaFo § 582a): […] εἰς τὸ πληροφορηθῆναι τὸν φιλόχριστον λαὸν τὸ ὅπως ὁ θεὸς τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἀποδείκνυσι.

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fathers, even if they took Polychronius’ claim for a heap of nonsense, they did not dismiss it outright, but took it seriously enough actually to prove that it was unfounded. Despite its many curious features, not much has been written about this strange event.10 J.N.D. Kelly’s magisterial monograph Early Christian Creeds,11 for example, contains no reference to Polychronius, nor indeed to the council as a whole. I suggest that this is typical of the way the creeds have been studied in the past. In what follows, I want first to uncover some deficiencies of previous scholarship on the creeds by looking somewhat more closely at Kelly’s classic account. Secondly, I will outline some areas where scholars in the last decades have moved beyond Kelly. Thirdly, I will briefly describe some problems that, in my view, require further study if we want to arrive at a new perspective on the creeds. Nevertheless, in recent years research on the creeds has gone out of fashion; in the final section of my article I will, therefore, discuss some of the reasons for this lack of interest. I. Kelly’s Early Christian Creeds Since its first publication in 1950 and, even more so, since the publication of its third edition in 1972, Kelly’s monograph on Early Christian Creeds has been enormously influential. It was translated into Italian, Spanish, Japanese, and German, and generations of students of theology have learned from it the essentials concerning the history of these fundamental texts of the Christian Church. Not too long ago, Mark Edwards and Markus Vinzent remarked with regard to this book, that ‘it still represents the benchmark of what is being taught and examined around the globe’.12 Kelly’s talent lay in synthesizing the results of decades of research into a summary account that was succinct and easily understandable. In his obituary of the late Principal of St Edmund Hall in Oxford, his friend John Cowdrey characterized Kelly’s scholarship as follows: Kelly did not possess creative originality as a thinker after anything like the model of his friend and contemporary Austin Farrer, nor had he a capacity for making new departures in systematic or speculative theology. His forte was the exploration and 10 See esp. Karl Joseph Hefele and Henri Leclercq, Histoire des conciles d’après les documents originaux, vol. III/1 (Paris, 1909), 506; Francis X. Murphy and Polycarp Sherwood, Konstantinopel II und III, Geschichte der ökumenischen Konzilien 3 (Mainz, 1990), 240, 256-7, 295; Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen Zeit I/4 (2001), 17-9 (# 6318; with further literature); Rudolf Riedinger in: ACO2 II, XVII-XVIII; Cyril Hovorun, Will, Action and Freedom: Christological Controversies in the Seventh Century, The Medieval Mediterranean 77 (Leiden, Boston, 2008), 90-1; FaFo § 582a (literature). For text and translation see FaFo § 582a. 11 John N.D. Kelly, Early Christian Creeds, 3rd ed. (London, 1972). 12 Mark Edwards and Markus Vinzent, ‘J.N.D. Kelly’, SP 53 (2013), 43-54, 44.

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exposition of the thought and activities of the towering personalities of the past. This is not to say that his work was unoriginal. He had a sure touch in searching out evidence and in placing a considered and fresh interpretation upon it. In all that he wrote, in whatever genre, his work was in the best sense authoritative: it carried conviction by its intrinsic qualities of perception and judgement.13

Kelly’s book is indeed authoritative, as far as it goes: its author describes very lucidly the creed’s origin as a genre and its composition and use at synods and in worship until the early Middle Ages. Given the complexities of doctrinal developments in that period, this is a great achievement. But Kelly also had a view of the history of the creeds which was far too traditionalist and monolithic. In a way, he conceptualized this history from its end. He was primarily interested in those creeds which, as it were, carried the day: the Creed of Constantinople (in what follows: C) and the Apostles’ Creed (T) and their precursors. He described credal history in such a way that it led by necessity to the formation of these specific formulae. Kelly’s history was thus clearly teleological. This approach entailed some, as it were, collateral damage: Kelly, for example, never studied the reasons as to when and why the Nicene Creed (N) ultimately vanished, once C had appeared on the scene at the Council of Chalcedon in 451 AD. Instead, he categorically stated that, after Chalcedon, the creed of the 150 fathers (C) was the baptismal creed of Constantinople, although the sources which he quotes (the Encyclical by the Monophysite Emperor Basiliscus14 and Zeno’s Henoticon15) by no means bear out this claim. On the contrary, the socalled Canon 7 of the Council of Ephesus (431 AD)16 had even expressly forbidden to compose another creed. In addition, Theodore the Reader in a famous, albeit slightly puzzling remark claimed that in 511 AD Patriarch Timothy of Constantinople had introduced ‘the symbol of faith of the 318 fathers’ into mass which, before, had only been recited once a year during the bishop’s catechesis on Good Friday. This would have been N and not C.17 In fact, one has to consider N and C in close correlation. In synodal and imperial pronouncements in and after Chalcedon C was always considered a ‘confirmation’ or ‘ratification’ of N and was, therefore, not even called a ‘creed’ (or a ‘symbol of faith’).18 Only much later things gradually began to 13 Herbert E.J. Cowdrey, ‘John Norman Davidson Kelly, 1909-1997’, Proceedings of the British Academy 101 (1999), 419-37, 426. 14 FaFo § 548. 15 FaFo § 550. 16 FaFo § 568e. 17 Theodore the Reader, Historia ecclesiastica, epit. 501 (FaFo § 685b). For discussion of this passage see the literature quoted in § 685. 18 Synods: Council of Chalcedon (451), Definition of Faith (Actio V, 30-4; FaFo § 215): Here only N is called an ἔκθεσις τῆς πίστεως and a σύμβολον (31). The latter term later appears again but now seems to designate both N and C (34). There is similar evidence from later councils: Synod endemousa of Constantinople in 518 (FaFo § 574); Third Council of Constantinople

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change: at the aforementioned Sixth Ecumenical Council in 680/1 AD, C was declared another ‘exposition of faith’, on a par with N,19 until at the Seventh Ecumenical Council (the Second Council of Nicaea, 787 AD) N was only vaguely referred to and ultimately only C was quoted as the creed of the synod.20 Yet in the same declaration the council fathers referred implicitly to Canon 7 of Ephesus by claiming that they had ‘nothing taken away, nothing added, but always preserved inviolate the doctrines of the catholic Church’,21 although clearly by now N had been taken away. Likewise, the creed which was used in the Eastern liturgies such as those of St James, St Basil, and St John Chrysostom, was that of Constantinople, not that of Nicaea.22 Kelly saw ‘nothing surprising or out of the ordinary’ in this development. ‘We should’, he wrote, ‘in any case have expected C eventually to oust all other creeds in the East’,23 because ‘its smooth-flowing style and balanced theological content marked it out for liturgical use’.24 Similarly, when, ultimately, the creed was to be included in the eucharistic liturgy, it was C ‘with its majestic phrases and stately rhythm’ (680/1), Definition of faith (Actio XVIII; § 242c). Emperors: Basiliscus, Encyclical (§ 548); Zeno, Henoticon 5 (§ 550); Justinian, Epistula ad Epiphanium Archiepiscopum Constantinopolitanum 11 (§ 554); id., Edictum rectae fidei 16 (§ 556); id., Instruction to the Council of Constantinople (553) 1 (§ 557); Justin II, Edictum primum de fide (§ 558). In addition, see Martyrius of Jerusalem in Pseudo-Zachariah Rhetor, Historia ecclesiastica 5,6c (§ 217), Chapters of the Egyptian clergy (§ 219); Letter of Monophysite bishops to Emperor Justinian (§ 222); Sophronius of Jerusalem, Epistula Synodica ad Sergium Constantinopolitanum 2,5,2 (§ 235b). 19 See ACO2 II, 770.5-35 (Actio XVIII). Here each creed is called an ἔκθεσις πίστεως. See, however, also the (more traditional) titles of the Latin versions of C in Actio XVII and XVIII; see ibid. 716.12 (Actio XVII, Collectio Hispana): Item et CL sanctorum Patrum Constantinopoli congregatorum and 717.15 (Actio XVII) = 771.20 (Actio XVIII): Et centum quinquaginta sanctorum patrum Constantinopolim congregatorum. Cod. L reads in the second instance: Symbolum CL patrum in Constantinopolim congregatorum and Symbolum Constantinopolim CL sanctorum patrum respectively. See also FaFo §§ 135d42 f. 20 See ACO2 III/3, 822.16-9 (Actio VII): Καὶ ἑπόμενοι ταῖς ἁγίαις οἰκουμενικαῖς ἓξ συνόδοις, πρῶτα μὲν τῇ ἐν τῇ λαμπρᾷ Νικαέων μητροπόλει συναθροισθείσῃ, ἔτι γε μὴν καὶ τῇ μετ’ αὐτὴν ἐν τῇ θεοφυλάκτῳ καὶ βασιλίδι πόλει, „πιστεύομεν […]“ etc. 21 ACO2 III/3, 822.14-6: Μετὰ πάσης τοίνυν ἀκριβείας ἐρευνήσαντές τε καὶ διασκεψάμενοι καὶ τῷ σκοπῷ τῆς ἀληθείας ἀκολουθήσαντες οὐδὲν ἀφαιροῦμεν, οὐδὲν προστίθεμεν, ἀλλὰ πάντα τὰ τῆς καθολικῆς ἐκκλησίας ἀμείωτα διαφυλάττομεν […]. 22 See FaFo §§ 693 (Liturgy of St James); 694b (Liturgy of St Basil and of St Chrysostom – here, unfortunately, the text of the creed is missing, but see, Frank E. Brightman, Liturgies Eastern and Western Being the Texts Original or Translated of the Principal Liturgies of the Church: Edited with Introductions and Appendices, vol. I: Eastern Liturgies [Oxford, 1896 (repr. 1965)], 383.7-25) and FaFo, vol. I, 518. As to the thorny question when this happened see Wolfram Kinzig, Neue Texte und Studien zu den antiken und frühmittelalterlichen Glaubensbekenntnissen, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 132 (Berlin, Boston, 2017), 311-27 = Wolfram Kinzig, ‘The Creed in the Liturgy: Prayer or Hymn?’, in Albert Gerhards and Clemens Leonhard (eds), Jewish and Christian Liturgy and Worship: New Insights into its History and Interaction, Jewish and Christian Perspectives 15 (Leiden, 2007), 229-46 (English version). 23 J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 346. 24 Ibid. 344.

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which ‘seemed almost pre-ordained for the role’.25 Here Kelly’s teleological view of this development is palpable. But things were more complicated: N was not so easily ousted everywhere. Kelly himself had to concede that his comprehensive claim was by no means borne out by the available evidence: ‘A few communities detached from the central stream of Orthodoxy, such as the Jacobite church of Syria, and the Nestorian, Armenian and Abyssinian churches, continue to employ creeds marked with traits drawn from N’. Yet this did not prevent him from stating that ‘broadly speaking, C, to all intents and purposes in its original form, has enjoyed a monopoly of baptism since the sixth century’.26 Kelly failed to mention that we also have a number of Greek and Coptic inscriptions, papyri, wooden tablets, and ostraca down to at least the seventh century which attest to a continuous use of N and not of C.27 It even seems that in one instance N forms part of a eucharistic liturgy.28 Even in the west there are traces of a continuous interest 25

Ibid. 348. Ibid. 345. 27 See FaFo § 135c note (vol. I, 292 f.). Additional evidence: Inscription on the wall of an anchorite’s grotto in Faras, Nubia; see Francis L. Griffith, ‘Oxford Excavations in Nubia’, Annals of Archaeology and Anthropology 14 (1927), 57-116, 82, 84-6; Joseph E. Sanzo, Scriptural Incipits on Amulets from Late Antique Egypt: Text, Typology, and Theory, Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 84 (Tübingen, 2014), 77-8 (no. 1); Jacques van der Vliet, ‘The Wisdom of the Wall: Innovation in Monastic Epigraphy’, in Malcolm Choat and Maria C. Giorda (eds), Writing and Communication in Early Egyptian Monasticism, Texts and Studies in Eastern Christianity 9 (Leiden, Boston, 2017), 151-64, 160-1. Papyrus: P.Mon.Epiph. 43 (Memnoneia-Djerne [Thebes west], Sheikh Abd el-Gurna, Monastery of Epiphanios, s. VII), ed. Walter E. Crum and Hugh G. EvelynWhite, The Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes, Part II: Coptic Ostraca and Papyri / Greek Ostraca and Papyri, Publications of the Metropolitan Museum of Art Egyptian Expedition 4 (New York, 1926), 8 (Coptic), 160 (translation); see Ágnes T. Mihálykó, The Christian Liturgical Papyri: An Introduction, Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 114 (Tübingen, 2019), 118 and n. 108 and database: http://www.trismegistos.org/ldab/text.php?quick=112546 (accessed 08/11/2019; however, due to the fragmentary state of the papyrus it is unclear whether the text is actually N). Wooden tablet: O. Deir el-Bahari 16 (Thebes, Deir el-Bahari, s. VI-VII), ed. Alain Delattre, ‘Un symbole de Nicée à Deir el-Bahari’, Journal of Juristic Papyrology 31 (2001), 7 f.; see A.T. Mihálykó, Liturgical Papyri (2019), 143 n. 235 and database: http://www.trismegistos. org/ldab/text.php?tm=68649 (accessed 08/11/2019). Ostraca: Berlin, Staatliche Museen, P. 20892 (Thebes?, s. VI-VII), ed. Alain Delattre, ‘Un symbole de Nicée en copte sur ostracon: Édition de O. Berol. Inv. 20892’, Journal of Coptic Studies 13 (2011), 113-5; see A.T. Mihálykó, Liturgical Papyri (2019), 143 n. 235 and database: http://www.trismegistos.org/ldab/text.php?tm=140550 (accessed 08/11/2019). O. Crum ST 15 (Thebes?, s. VI-VIII), ed. Walter E. Crum, Short Texts from Coptic Ostraca and Papyri (Oxford, 1921), 5 (no. 15); see Hans Quecke, Untersuchungen zum koptischen Stundengebet, Publications de l’Institut Orientaliste de Louvain 3 (Louvain, 1970), 321; A.T. Mihálykó, Liturgical Papyri (2019), 143 n. 235. Databases: http://www.trismegistos.org/ldab/ text.php?tm=111154; http://litpap.info/dclp/111154 (accessed 08/11/2019). 28 Brigham Young University Collection of Coptic Fragments, no. 90 (Upper Egypt; s. V-VI), published in William F. Macomber, ‘The Nicene Creed in a Liturgical Fragment of the 5th or 6th Century from Upper Egypt’, Oriens Christianus 77 (1993), 98-103. See also A.T. Mihálykó, Liturgical Papyri (2019), 59, 143 n. 235, 221 and database: http://www.trismegistos.org/ldab/ text.php?tm=108862 (accessed 08/11/2019). 26

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in N until well beyond the Carolingian age.29 Thus an unknown author (PseudoAmalarius of Metz), writing to Charlemagne, claimed that the ‘faith of the Nicene Council of the 318 fathers’ was binding for him and went on to quote N, ignoring C.30 Likewise, in a handbook for missionaries or catechists which was composed in Passau at around 850 AD (cod. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 19410, pp. 3-4), it is N and not C which the addressees are supposed to learn.31 Finally, in a brief history of the creeds Meinhard of Bamberg, who in 1085 was to become bishop of Würzburg, mentions (after the Apostles’ Creed) both N and C as distinct creeds and calls N a mitissima et saluberrima fidei expositio which had been ‘accepted and preserved with due reverence throughout the entire world’.32 So although C replaced N at synods and in the Roman baptismal liturgy, N continued to be used and commented upon for some centuries. There are other deficiencies in Kelly’s book. Thorough Anglican that he was, Kelly was particularly interested in the use of the creeds at synods and in liturgy and had much to say on both accounts. Yet he failed to see that the history of these formulae was determined by additional factors as well and that, conversely, it influenced other areas of Christian thought and life. Here I will mention only two of these areas: First, Kelly largely ignored the far-reaching legal implications which the formation of credal formulae at synods involved.33 He did recognize that the 29 See Susan A. Keefe, A Catalogue of Works Pertaining to the Explanation of the Creed in Carolingian Manuscripts, Instrumenta Patristica et Mediaevalia 63 (Turnhout, 2012), nos. 51 (= CPL 1746; s. V in.), 142 (= CPL 1745; 350-400 AD), 201 (= CPL 551), 215 (= CPL 171; s. V-VI), 345 (s. VIII-IX). In addition, see the later Latin versions of N that do not stem from translations of synodal collections or from writings of the Greek fathers: FaFo § 135d32, 38, 44, 45. 30 See Pseudo-Amalarius, Epistula ad Carolum imperatorem 6 (Susan A. Keefe, Water and the Word: Baptism and the Education of the Clergy in the Carolingian Empire, 2 vol., Publications in Mediaeval Studies [Notre Dame, IN, 2002], II 544.15-6; see Jean M. Hanssens, Amalarii episcopi opera liturgica omnia, vol. III: Liber de ordine antiphonarii – Eclogae de ordine Romano – Appendix tomi I et II – Indices, Studi e Testi 140 [Vatican City, 1950], 270.10-2): Sicut inferius scriptum tenetur exemplum fidei niceni concilii trecentorum decem et octo patrum. Here follows N: see FaFo § 135d38. 31 See FaFo § 135d45. 32 See Carl P. Caspari, Kirchenhistorische Anecdota nebst neuen Ausgaben patristischer und kirchlich-mittelalterlicher Schriften, vol. I: Lateinische Schriften: Die Texte und die Anmerkungen (Christiania, 1883), 260: Post hanc mitissimam et saluberrimam fidei expositionem […]. Ibid: Cum ergo haec diffinitio fidei a patribus Nicaeni concilii diuinitus inspiratis edita fuisset, debita reuerentia et accepta et seruata est per totum orbem Christianum […]. See also FaFo § 135d46. The attribution to Meginhard of Fulda has been disproved; see URL and (accessed 08/11/2019). 33 In general, not much has been published about the legal character of creeds. See, however, Gerda Riedl, ‘Die Rechtsverbindlichkeit des Glaubensbekenntnisses: Historische Praxis, theologische Begründung, kanonische Geltung’, in Wilhelm Rees (ed.), Recht in Kirche und Staat: Joseph Listl zum 75. Geburtstag, Kanonistische Texte und Studien 48 (Berlin, 2004), 341-67.

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Sitz im Leben of the creeds changed in the fourth century as a result of their increasingly synodal character. Thus he claimed that, as opposed to earlier confessions and rules of faith, the new synodal creeds of the fourth century served as a ‘test for orthodoxy’. At the same time, the Nicene Creed was ‘the first formula to be published by an ecumenical synod: consequently, it was the first which could claim universal authority in a legal sense’.34 In other words, Kelly described the legal character of creeds only in relation to their ecumenicity. It was only by virtue of being ecumenical that they served as a ‘test of orthodoxy’. This seems, however, clearly to underplay what was really happening. For at Nicaea alternative formularies like those of the Arians were literally torn to pieces, because they were considered heretical.35 What’s more, the bishops were, for the first time,36 required to subscribe by their own hand to a fixed formula, setting out the orthodox faith and cursing those holding deviant opinions. In describing the events at Nicaea in his famous book Kaisergericht und Bischofsgericht, Klaus Girardet for once did not follow Eusebius’ flowery summary, but Philostorgius’ much harsher account: ‘The union [between the quarreling bishops] was easily achieved by means of a brusque procedure: the revised or rewritten creed of Eusebius was presented by a high official (Philumenos), probably the magister officiorum, to the bishops for signature with the proviso that whoever refused his consent would have to go into exile’.37 This is a long cry from Kelly’s description of what happened at Nicaea according to which Constantine gently persuaded the Fathers to accept the homoousios38 34

J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 206-7. See Eusebius, Epistula ad ecclesiam Caesariensem (FaFo § 135b1); id., Vita Constantini 3,14 (FaFo § 135b2); Theodoret, Historia ecclesiastica 1,7,14-5 (FaFo § 135a1); ibid. 1,8,1-3 (FaFo § 135a2). 36 It is unclear whether already at the Council of Antioch in 324/5 bishops had been asked to sign a creed, provided that this council actually took place and is no later invention. For discussion see the literature in FaFo § 133. 37 Klaus M. Girardet, Kaisergericht und Bischofsgericht: Studien zu den Anfängen des Donatistenstreites (313-315) und zum Prozeß des Athanasius von Alexandrien (328-346), Antiquitas 1 (Bonn, 1975), 49-50: ‘Die Einigung war durch ein rüdes Verfahren leicht erzielt: das umgearbeitete bzw. neugefaßte Bekenntnis des Eusebius wurde den Bischöfen reihum von einem hohen Beamten (Philumenos), wohl dem magister officiorum, zur Unterzeichnung vorgelegt – mit der Maßgabe, daß, wer die Zustimmung verweigere, in die Verbannung gehen müsse’. Girardet refers to Philostorgius, Historia ecclesiastica 1,9a,4-6 (Joseph Bidez and Friedhelm Winkelmann, Philostorgius Kirchengeschichte: Mit dem Leben des Lucian von Antiochien und den Fragmenten eines arianischen Historiographen, Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte 21, 3rd ed. (Berlin, 1981), 10.16-29 = Bruno Bleckmann and Markus Stein, Philostorgios Kirchengeschichte. Ediert, übersetzt und kommentiert, 2 vol., Kleine und fragmentarische Historiker der Spätantike E/7 (Paderborn, 2015), I 164.14-28). The account forms part of an anonymous Vita Constantini (BHG 365); the provenance of its information from Philostorgius is not beyond doubt; see B. Bleckmann and M. Stein, Philostorgios (2015), II 29-33. 38 See J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 250, 253-4. 35

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and N subsequently received its ‘universal authority in a legal sense’, because it was ‘published by an ecumenical synod’.39 So how did the Nicene Creed come about? By the Church’s triumphant proclamation of orthodoxy or by the emperor’s bullying and intimidation? And what was the significance of N as a legal text within the context of the development of both ecclesiastical and secular law? In this respect, Kelly took no notice of earlier scholarship by historians and legal historians such as Artur Steinwenter,40 Biondo Biondi,41 Hans Ulrich Instinsky,42 and Jean Gaudemet,43 detailing the influence of Roman law and Roman institutions such as the senate or the emperor’s consilium on the development of synods. In recent studies, including those of Girardet, this problem has been discussed at some length especially by historians.44 Furthermore, what was the purpose of prescribing a particular type of trinitarian faith or even a particular creed in an imperial law, as was done from Theodosius I onwards?45 Why did emperors (or their advisers) such as Justinian later even compose their own creeds and insert them in laws? 39

See above n. 34. See Artur Steinwenter, ‘Der antike kirchliche Rechtsgang und seine Quellen’, Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte/Kanonistische Abteilung 54 (1934), 1-116. 41 See Biondo Biondi, Il diritto romano cristiano, 3 vol. (Milan, 1952-4), esp. I 253-357; II 359-74. 42 See Hans Ulrich Instinsky, Bischofsstuhl und Kaiserthron (Munich, 1955). 43 See Jean Gaudemet, La formation du droit séculier et du droit de l’église aux IVe et Ve siècles, Institut de Droit Romain de l’Université de Paris 15 (Paris, 1957), esp. 135-48; Jean Gaudemet, L’église dans l’empire romain, Histoire du droit et des institutions de l’église en occident 3 (Paris, 1958), esp. 593-623. 44 See e.g. Fergus Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World (31 BC – AD 337) (London, 1977), 594-9; Timothy D. Barnes, Constantine and Eusebius (Cambridge, MA, London, 1981), 208-23; Harold A. Drake, Constantine and the Bishops: The Politics of Intolerance, PB 2002 (Baltimore, London, 2000), 250-7; Klaus M. Girardet, Der Kaiser und sein Gott: Das Christentum im Denken und in der Religionspolitik Konstantins des Großen, Millennium-Studien 27 (Berlin, New York, 2010), 140-7; Timothy D. Barnes, Constantine: Dynasty, Religion and Power in the Later Roman Empire, Blackwell Ancient Lives (Chichester, 2011), 120-6; David Potter, Constantine the Emperor (Oxford, 2013), 233-8; Klaus M. Girardet, Studien zur Alten Geschichte der Europäer (Bonn, 2015), esp. 435-47, and others. Furthermore Adolf M. Ritter, ‘Reich und Konzil’, in Gerhard Rau, Hans-Richard Reiter and Klaus Schlaich (eds), Das Recht der Kirche, vol. II: Zur Geschichte des Kirchenrechts (Gütersloh, 1995), 36-57; Jörg Ulrich, ‘Konstantin der Große und die Frage nach den Vätern des Konzils von Nizäa’, in Johannes Arnold et al. (eds), Väter der Kirche: Ekklesiales Denken von den Anfängen bis in die Neuzeit. Festgabe für Hermann Josef Sieben SJ zum 70. Geburtstag (Paderborn, 2004), 149-65, 152-9; Henryk Pietras, Council of Nicaea (325): Religious and Political Context, Documents, Commentaries (Rome, 2016); Mark S. Smith, The Idea of Nicaea in the Early Church Councils, AD 431-451, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2018), 7-13. As regards the problem of the Nicene canons see Heinz Ohme, Kanon ekklesiastikos: Die Bedeutung des altkirchlichen Kanonbegriffs, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 67 (Berlin, New York, 1998), 352-78. 45 See Wolfram Kinzig, ‘Herrschaft und Bekenntnis: Überlegungen zur imperialen Normierung des christlichen Glaubens in der Spätantike’, Historische Zeitschrift 303 (2016), 621-42. 40

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No mention is made by Kelly of any of these texts which fit none of the traditional categories.46 The second area for which Kelly showed little interest was that of religious education and of social history. The evidence available to us suggests that creeds were also carriers of religious knowledge and served to structure Christian daily life, thus helping to cope with difficulties which Christians were facing on a day-to-day basis. For example, in his famous letter to Gerbald of Liège Charlemagne mentions that at Epiphany he attended a baptismal service during which the parents of the infants who were to be baptized were unable to recite the Lord’s Prayer or the creed. The emperor was outraged by this lack of even a minimum knowledge of the Christian religion and decreed that these two texts were to be memorized by all his Christian subjects.47 Kelly does mention this letter,48 but he quotes it in the course of discussing the ultimate version of the Apostles’ Creed. Yet he has little to say about the creed as one of only very few tools for imparting religious knowledge to the Christian populace. This particular perspective had far-reaching consequences. In his praise of the theological content of the creeds Kelly failed to see that in comparison to the biblical evidence, this content was skewed: it largely comprised trinitarian doctrine. By contrast, in the Apostles’ Creed Christ’s saving work was nowhere explicitly mentioned, and in the Creed of Constantinople only in a rather enigmatic shorthand (‘who because of us humans and because of our salvation descended from the heavens’; ‘was crucified for us’). This observation applies all the more to Christian ethics which in the creeds was (and is) missing in its entirety. Therefore, the view which is often found in late-antique western sources according to which the Apostles’ Creed should be considered a comprehensive summary of the Christian faith49 is highly problematic. The particular theological focus of T and C and their widespread reception as part of the baptismal liturgy and of the eucharist in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages entailed a considerable loss of religious knowledge, in particular within the realm of soteriology and of Christian ethics. When knowledge of these two texts was considered sufficient for every Christian, then even central biblical texts became largely dispensable and were, in fact, also dispensed with. The most striking examples are the Ten Commandments and the Double Commandment of Love which to our 46 See Christoph Markschies, ‘On Classifying Creeds the Classical German Way: “PrivatBekenntnisse” (“Private Creeds”)’, SP 63 (2013), 259-71; FaFo, vol. I, 20-1. For discussion regarding the appropriateness of the credal categories see recently also Andrew Radde-Gallwitz, ‘Private Creeds and their Troubled Authors’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 24 (2016), 465-90. 47 See Charlemagne, Epistola de oratione dominica et symbolo discendis (FaFo § 731). 48 See J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 423. 49 See the references cited in FaFo, vol. I, 6 n. 25 and Wolfram Kinzig, art. ‘Symbolum’, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum (2020; sub prelo).

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best knowledge played no major role in Christian catechesis in the Latin west until the High Middle Ages.50 Conversely, the creed took on an unexpected and unprecedented role in the daily life of worshippers. It was to be recited several times a day.51 Its sanctity, which was enhanced by the solemn revelation of its content at the traditio symboli, was considered so great that, as we have seen in the case of Polychronius, it also served apotropaic and magical purposes: it repelled the devil from the believer’s soul, it protected travellers during long journeys, it increased the effect of medicinal herbs when recited during their collection,52 and, who knows, it might even revive the dead. A number of papyrus fragments have come down to us from fifth- or sixth-century Egypt which combine confessions with prayers for the cure from disease.53 They were probably carried in small containers around the neck or fastened at doorposts and served as apotropaic amulets, just like Jewish mezuzot.54 None of this information can be found in Kelly’s book although much of it had already been known by the time he wrote it. II. Moving beyond Kelly Having shown some of the deficiencies of Kelly’s work, it might be useful to give some indication as to what progress the study of the creed has made over the last fifty years or so.55 Credal research is particularly satisfying, because here actual discoveries of new texts can still be made. Since 1972 a large number of important monographs and articles by eminent scholars have been published which deal with the history of doctrine in the Early Church. Most recently, the history of the councils as institutions for negotiating doctrinal 50 See Wolfram Kinzig, ‘Warum es im Glaubensbekenntnis keine Ethik gibt: Überlegungen aus kirchenhistorischer Perspektive’, Journal for Ethics in Antiquity and Christianity 1 (2019); download: URL (08/11/2019), 48 and n. 65. 51 See Wolfram Kinzig, ‘Formation des Glaubens: Didaktische und liturgische Aspekte der Rezeption altkirchlicher Symbole in der lateinischen Kirche der Spätantike und des Frühmittelalters’, in Uta Heil (ed.), Das Christentum im frühen Europa: Diskurse – Tendenzen – Entscheidungen, Millennium-Studien 75 (Berlin, Boston, 2019), 389-431, 394; id., ‘Symbolum’ (2020). 52 Details in Wolfram Kinzig, Das Apostolische Glaubensbekenntnis: Leistung und Grenzen eines christlichen Fundamentaltextes, Hans-Lietzmann-Vorlesungen 17 (Berlin, Boston, 2018), 9-13. 53 Examples in FaFo § 653. 54 See, in general, Andreas Bendlin, art. ‘Phylakterion’, in Der Neue Pauly (online edition 2006): (accessed 08/11/2019). For the west see also Bernadette Filotas, Pagan Survivals, Superstitions and Popular Cultures in Early Medieval Pastoral Literature, Studies and Texts/Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies 151 (Toronto, 2005), 252-6. For mezuzot see Louis I. Rabinowitz, art. ‘Mezuzah’, Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. XIV, 2nd ed. (2007), 156-7. 55 The then status quaestionis with regard to the Apostles’ Creed was summarized by Frederick E. Vokes, art. ‘Apostolisches Glaubensbekenntnis, I. Alte Kirche und Mittelalter’, Theologische Realenzyklopädie, vol. III (1978), 528-54. It was largely based on Kelly.

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controversy has received fresh attention. Here it may suffice to mention some of those who have made major contributions to the study of credal production in this period. One discussion, led by the late Luise Abramowski, Reinhart Staats, Adolf Martin Ritter, and Volker Drecoll, centred on the origin of the Creed of Constantinople,56 a problem to which I will return below. Subsequently, Christoph Markschies, Markus Vinzent, and I myself have tried to show that the prehistory of the creeds in the first three centuries needs to be largely rewritten.57 In fact, these authors argued that we can only now even speak of a prehistory, as there may have been no declaratory creeds before the fourth century. Markschies showed that the reconstructions of the Traditio Apostolica which Gregory Dix and Bernard Botte had proposed were based on unsound methodological assumptions and could, therefore, no longer be used for credal research, as Kelly and others had assumed. I myself suggested that it is possible at least partly to reconstruct the interrogatory creeds of the late second and early third centuries both for northern Africa and for Rome, without falling back on the Traditio. Finally, Markus Vinzent explained how specific doctrinal developments at the beginning of the fourth century fairly suddenly led to the formulation and evolution of synodal creeds. Vinzent also claimed that the Roman Creed (R), the ancestor of T, did not predate the fourth century and probably originated in the letter which Marcellus of Ancyra sent to Julius of Rome in 340 or 341 AD.58 According to Vinzent, the creed which Marcellus had formulated in this letter (possibly using earlier baptismal questions) was partly adopted by a synod in Rome and quickly spread from there to other parts of the Latin Roman empire. At the invitation of the late Maurice F. Wiles, in 1999 Vinzent and I synthesized our findings in a brief article in the centenary edition of the Journal of Theological Studies.59 These theses 56 Luise Abramowski, Formula and Context: Studies in Early Christian Thought, Collected Studies Series (Hampshire, Brookfield, VT, 1992); Luise Abramowski, ‘Was hat das NicaenoConstantinopolitanum (C) mit dem Konzil von Konstantinopel 381 zu tun?’, Theologie und Philosophie 67 (1992), 481-513; Adolf M. Ritter, ‘Noch einmal: “Was hat das Nicaeno-Constantinopolitanum (C) mit dem Konzil von Konstantinopel zu tun?”’, in id., Vom Glauben der Christen und seiner Bewährung in Denken und Handeln: Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Kirchengeschichte, vol. II, Texts and Studies in the History of Theology 8 (Mandelbachtal, Cambridge, 2003), 80-90; Volker H. Drecoll, ‘Wie nizänisch ist das Nicaeno-Constantinopolitanum? Zur Diskussion der Herkunft von NC durch Staats, Abramowski, Hauschild und Ritter’, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 107 (1996), 1-18; Reinhart Staats, Das Glaubensbekenntnis von Nizäa-Konstantinopel: Historische und theologische Grundlagen, 2nd ed. (Darmstadt, 1999). See already Ritter’s seminal monograph on the Council of Constantinople: Adolf M. Ritter, Das Konzil von Konstantinopel und sein Symbol: Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des II. Ökumenischen Konzils, Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 15 (Göttingen, 1965). 57 Wolfram Kinzig, Christoph Markschies and Markus Vinzent, Tauffragen und Bekenntnis: Studien zur sogenannten ‘Traditio Apostolica’, zu den ‘Interrogationes de fide’ und zum ‘Römischen Glaubensbekenntnis’, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 74 (Berlin, New York, 1999). 58 See FaFo § 253. 59 Wolfram Kinzig and Markus Vinzent, ‘Recent Research on the Origin of the Creed’, Journal of Theological Studies 50 (1999), 535-59.

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by Markschies, Vinzent, and myself triggered an extensive scholarly discussion and were ultimately largely accepted.60 Some years later, Vinzent also summarized the history of research with regard to the Apostles’ Creed in an extensive monograph.61 Among the few who disagreed were Martien Parmentier and Gerard Rouwhorst. They questioned Vinzent’s view that the Roman Creed was, in reality, a product of Marcellus of Ancyra, partly because of the wide distribution of variants of R throughout the west.62 More recently, Uta Heil suggested that Marcellus quotes a creed composed by the Roman synod and not vice versa.63 By contrast, following in the footsteps of his teachers Parmentier and Rouwhorst, Liuwe H. Westra has remained an advocate of the traditional view with regard to an early date of R and to its subsequent development. In his doctoral dissertation of 2002 Westra presented a large-scale reconstruction of the origin of this text.64 He defended Kelly’s old explanation that the Roman Creed had, by and large, come into existence in the early third century.65 At the same time, Westra offered a fresh line of research by exploring the question concerning to what extent the descendants of the Roman Creed since the fourth century may be explained as regional variants. In addition, he edited a number of important explanations of the creed either for the first time or in improved versions. Thus the later history of the Roman creed and its variants throughout the Latin west and the way in which they were expounded and used came into focus. Their study received a further important stimulus by the work of the late Susan Keefe. In a seminal monograph she provided a new basis for research into the baptismal liturgy of the Carolingian age in editing a large number of relevant sources and synthesizing the data culled from these new texts.66 In addition, shortly before her premature death in 2012, she completed two fundamental works dealing with the history of the Apostles’ Creed in the Early Middle 60 Reviews: Journal of Theological Studies 50 (1999), 768 f. (Paul F. Bradshaw); Recherches de Science Religieuse 73 (1999), 471-3 (Pierre Vallin); Theologische Literaturzeitung 125 (2000), 772-8 (Volker Henning Drecoll); Journal of Ecclesiastical History 51 (2000), 119 f. (Winrich Löhr); Revue de Droit Canonique 50 (2000), 209 f. (Marcel Metzger); Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 112 (2001), 104-7 (Peter Gemeinhardt); Theologische Revue 97 (2001), 390 (Christian Uhrig); Revue d’Histoire Ecclesiastique 96 (2001), 585 f. (Jean-Marie Auwers). See also the extensive review article by Martin Parmentier and Gerard Rouwhorst, ‘Early Christian Baptismal Questions and Creeds’, Bijdragen 62 (2001), 455-66. 61 Markus Vinzent, Der Ursprung des Apostolikums im Urteil der kritischen Forschung, Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 89 (Göttingen, 2006). 62 M. Parmentier and G. Rouwhorst, ‘Baptismal Questions’ (2001). 63 Uta Heil, ‘Markell von Ancyra und das Romanum’, in Annette von Stockhausen and Hanns C. Brennecke (eds), Von Arius zum Athanasianum: Studien zur Edition der ‘Athanasius Werke’ (Berlin, New York, 2010), 85-104. 64 Liuwe H. Westra, The Apostles’ Creed: Origin, History, and Some Early Commentaries, Instrumenta patristica et mediaevalia 43 (Turnhout, 2002). 65 See my short review in Journal of Ecclesiastical History 56 (2005), 548 f. and Vinzent’s extensive discussion in M. Vinzent, Ursprung (2006), 360-94. 66 S.A. Keefe, Water (2002).

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Ages: a catalogue of Carolingian manuscripts containing credal collections67 and an edition of explanations of the creed culled from these manuscripts which previous scholars had partly or totally neglected.68 Furthermore, two books should be mentioned which placed a particular emphasis on theological questions relating to the confessions of faith. Frances Young’s The Making of the Creeds, first published in 1991, has meanwhile become a classic in its own right. Young was interested in the theological motives which led to the formulation of the individual clauses of the creed rather than in the overall texts as a literary genre.69 Furthermore, Gerda Riedl, in her doctoral dissertation of 2004, suggested a new methodological approach which she called ‘systematic-generative’ (as opposed to ‘historical-genetic’). In its scholarly thrust, her work was, ultimately, not very different from Young’s monograph, but opened up additional perspectives on the driving theological principles behind the composition of creeds.70 Simultaneously, studies were published which dealt with one particular problem of credal history and, indeed, of ecumenism in general, i.e. the controversy over the filioque. The ground-breaking monographs by Bernd Oberdorfer and Peter Gemeinhardt have in many respects modified our traditional view of this controversy and have provided all future ecumenical debate with a sound historical basis.71 Most recently, Gemeinhardt has produced two additional substantial contributions. In the first he concentrates on two major clauses of the creed, i.e. Christ’s descent to hell and his ascension.72 In the second he shows that the history of the Apostles’ Creed is neither unilinear nor characterized by a steady decline, as earlier scholars had suggested, but by significant transformations, a 67

S.A. Keefe, Catalogue (2012). Susan A. Keefe, Explanationes Symboli Aevi Carolini, Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis 254 (Turnhout, 2012). 69 Frances M. Young, The Making of the Creeds (London, Philadelphia, 1991). A similar approach was taken more recently in Piotr Ashwin-Siejkowski, The Apostles’ Creed: The Apostles’ Creed and its Early Christian Context (London, New York, 2009). 70 Gerda Riedl, Hermeneutische Grundstrukturen frühchristlicher Bekenntnisbildung, Theologische Bibliothek Töpelmann 123 (Berlin, New York, 2004). 71 Bernd Oberdorfer, Filioque: Geschichte und Theologie eines ökumenischen Problems, Forschungen zur systematischen und ökumenischen Theologie 96 (Göttingen, 2001); Peter Gemeinhardt, Die Filioque-Kontroverse zwischen Ost- und Westkirche im Frühmittelalter, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte 82 (Berlin, New York, 2002). – By contrast, the book by A. Edward Siecienski, The Filioque: History of a Doctrinal Controversy (Oxford, 2010) offers few new insights. Cf. the review by Peter Gemeinhardt in the Theologische Literaturzeitung 137 (2012), 69-71. 72 Peter Gemeinhardt, ‘Sphärenwechsel im Christusmythos: Höllen- und Himmelfahrt Christi als mythische Strukturmomente in spätantiken christlichen Glaubensbekenntnissen und ihren Kontexten’, in Annette and Christian Zgoll (eds), Mythische Sphärenwechsel: Methodisch neue Zugänge zu antiken Mythen in Orient und Okzident, Mythological Studies 2 (Berlin, Boston, 2019), 539-622. 68

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confusing plurality of texts, and also sheer happenstance.73 In a remarkable study published in 2018 Mark S. Smith has followed a similar path, but with regard to the Nicene Creed whose reception (and transformation) he has traced until the Council of Chalcedon.74 In my own research I have in recent years also concentrated on the history of the creed in the west, in particular with regard to religious instruction and preaching and on legal and liturgical aspects. In addition, I have also published a series of new relevant source texts.75 Finally, I have tried to present the great variety of the sources in the original languages and in English translation in my collection Faith in Formulae which was compiled with the assistance of Christopher Hays and which appeared in 2017.76 III. Puzzling over the Creeds In the near future I hope to be able, in a monograph summarizing the history of the creeds, to offer a fresh look at some puzzles that have remained unresolved. Here I briefly name but four: First, where does the so-called Roman Creed come from? Is it indeed largely a product of Marcellus of Ancyra, as Markus Vinzent and I have claimed some time ago? Or does it have a much longer history, perhaps leading back to the late second or early third centuries as earlier scholars had suggested? Their assumption had largely been based on the evidence of the Apostolic Tradition, but, as I have tried to show above, these grounds had become shaky by the time Markus Vinzent and I published the results of our research. I still think that, by and large, our conclusions with regard to the baptismal questions in the preConstantinian Church and the development of the creed in the fourth century remain valid. In one respect, however, I have become more sceptical. Although previously I tended to agree with Vinzent regarding the origin of R, I now think that even without the Traditio Apostolica there is sufficient evidence to show that already in the early third century a declaratory creed largely resembling R existed. Yet it did not originate in Rome, but, more probably, in northern Africa 73 Peter Gemeinhardt, ‘Vom Werden des Apostolikums’, in Anne Käfer, Jens Herzer and Jörg Frey (eds), Die Reden von Gott Vater und Gott Heiligem Geist als Glaubensaussagen: Der erste und dritte Artikel des Apostolischen Glaubensbekenntnisses im Gespräch zwischen Bibelwissenschaft und Systematischer Theologie (Tübingen, 2020; sub prelo). 74 M.S. Smith, Idea (2018). 75 See esp. W. Kinzig, ‘Herrschaft’ (2016); id., Neue Texte (2017); id., Glaubensbekenntnis (2018); id., ‘Formation’ (2019); id., ‘Warum’ (2019); id., ‘Die Verpflichtungserklärungen der getauften Juden von Toledo aus den Jahren 637 und 654’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 54 (2020), 1-37; id., ‘Glauben lernen im Mittelalter: Eine Predigt über das Apostolicum in cod. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, lat. 18104’, in Festschrift für Michael Meyer-Blanck (2020, sub prelo); id., ‘Symbolum’ (2020). 76 See above n. 1.

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whence it was adopted in the capital. In addition, Alessandro Bausi has discovered a new Ethiopic witness of the Apostolic Tradition which contains a version of the creed known to us already from the Latin version of this work.77 This raises new questions and suggests that credal developments in the capital were more complicated than has hitherto been assumed.78 Secondly, why is it often assumed that by the fourth century declaratory baptismal creeds were being used all over the empire? To quote Kelly again: ‘Later, in the third century, with the elaboration of the catechumenate and of the baptismal rite itself, declaratory creeds were introduced and speedily became regular’.79 However, as regards the west at least until the 350s AD declaratory creeds (as opposed to baptismal interrogations) were by no means common – indeed, a remark by Hilary of Poitiers suggests the exact opposite to be true at least in Gaul, Germany, and Britain.80 It is precisely at this point that we have, for Rome, first evidence for the liturgical custom of traditio and redditio symboli, i.e. the formal ‘handing over’ and ‘handing back’ (recital) of the creed which required a fixed formula. This custom may have been introduced there in the 340s AD by bishop Julius, but details have so far remained unclear and have received little scholarly attention.81 Both R and its liturgical setting subsequently spread to other western dioceses such as Milan, Aquileia, and northern Africa where both were adapted to local circumstances.82 As regards the east, the situation is even more blurred. Contrary to what Kelly claimed,83 it is by no means certain that the creed which Eusebius included in the letter to his diocese is indeed the baptismal creed of Caesarea. Clear evidence of a παράδοσις πίστεως is not found until the 370s AD except for Jerusalem where the Catecheses of Cyril attest this custom already in the late 340s AD.84 The lack of other homilies on the creed in the eastern part of the empire until at least the late 370s AD85 is quite surprising and not easily explained, if declaratory creeds were indeed widely used at baptism. Even John Chrysostom, verbose as he is in other respects, does not tell us precisely which credal formula was recited in his congregations in Antioch or Constantinople.86 77

See FaFo § 89c where Bausi’s publications are quoted. See W. Kinzig, Texte (2017), 269-91; id., ‘The Origins of the Roman Creed: New Reflections on an Old Problem’, in Markus Bockmuehl (ed.), The Bible and the Creed (2020, sub prelo). 79 J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 193. 80 See FaFo, vol. I, 11-2 and § 151d1. 81 See, however, Markus Vinzent, ‘Die Entstehung des “Römischen Glaubensbekenntnisses”’, in Wolfram Kinzig, Christoph Markschies and Markus Vinzent, Tauffragen und Bekenntnis: Studien zur sogenannten ‘Traditio Apostolica’, zu den ‘Interrogationes de fide’ und zum ‘Römischen Glaubensbekenntnis’, AKG 74 (Berlin, New York, 1999), 185-409, 383-406. 82 See W. Kinzig, ‘Formation’ (2019), 392-4. 83 See J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 181-3. 84 See W. Kinzig, ‘Symbolum’ (2020). 85 See FaFo § 180 and the list in W. Kinzig, Texte (2017), 363. 86 See FaFo § 189. In Catechesis baptismalis 3/1, 20-1 he seems only to summarize the credal content after the manner of the rule of faith. 78

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In addition, no liturgical order for the use of the creed during the catechumenate or at baptism (except for the rather enigmatic Apostolic Constitutions87) has come down to us. Thirdly, although over the last decades considerable progress has been made, the origin of C still requires further discussion. I think that by now it can be safely ruled out that C goes back to a baptismal creed which is independent from N, but has to be seen as some form of revision of N. In addition, the synods at Rome in 377/8 AD and at Antioch in 379 AD seem to have played a major role in this revision. But the precise course of events before and at the Council of Constantinople is still controversial. A fourth problem, closely related to the third one, concerns the famous gap of attestation of C between the Second and Fourth Ecumenical Council. As is well known, the presidents of the gathering at Chalcedon conjured up the creed almost like a rabbit from a hat at the third session whence it was subsequently inserted in the Definition of Faith of that council. Why is C, if at all, only rarely attested between Constantinople and Chalcedon? Previous scholarship, including Kelly, tried to solve this conundrum by claiming that when the fathers spoke of the ‘faith of Nicaea’ they could, in fact, refer to C, since what was meant was not a specific formula but a specific theological content. It is a circumstance of immense significance, [Kelly wrote,] that, from the time of Constantinople and probably before it, and also after Chalcedon, the description ‘the faith of Nicaea’, or ‘the faith, symbol or ekthesis of the 318 fathers’, was not necessarily applied solely to N in its pure, authentic form. It could equally well be used of a creed, local or otherwise, which was patently Nicene in its general character, while differing from N in much of its language.88

Here, I think, Kelly is partly mistaken. He is right in saying that when they spoke of the ‘faith of Nicaea’ the Fathers did not necessarily refer to the exact formula that was adopted in Nicaea. However, the number of possible variations and additions to the original version was limited, if a creed was still to be called ‘Nicene’, and even minor additions led to considerable controversy, as the adoption of Canon 7 at Ephesus demonstrates. In any case, C as it has come down to us no longer qualified as ‘Creed of Nicaea’ and, as we have seen before, when quoted was not even called a ‘creed’ or a ‘symbol of faith’. IV. Creeds in Crisis I have tried to indicate how credal research has branched out since Kelly’s book and now also includes aspects of legal, institutional, and social history, and of popular piety. In addition, I have outlined some problems that in my 87 88

See FaFo § 182c. J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 323.

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view remain unresolved. Given this situation, it may come as a surprise that over the last twenty years or so, research into the history of the early Christian creeds has become isolated to an increasingly small sub-field maintained by only a few highly specialized scholars, without anyone outside that area of speciality seeming to take much notice. Not to put too fine a point upon it, a new perspective on the creeds is called for, because at present in patristics there is no perspective anymore.89 Take this conference: unless I am very much mistaken, there are hardly any papers that deal with credal questions. This is surprising, given the fact that the creeds are arguably the most influential Christian texts next to the Bible. Why this lack of interest within our discipline? A variety of factors may be responsible. It was probably inevitable that after one and a half centuries of intensive research many scholars would feel that other subjects also deserved their attention. Yet I wonder to what extent patristics has also been seized by the same scepticism against dogmatic formulae and, indeed, against dogmatics in general which can be observed throughout most western churches and even much of western theology. Furthermore, I suspect that the crisis in the humanities and, in particular, in classics may, among younger scholars, have led to a decrease in the linguistic skills that are necessary to do this type of research. (But this was a problem Augustine was already grappling with in his study of Homer: Nulla uerba illa noueram [Confessiones 1,14,23].) At the same time, the complexity of the subject has increased. A confusing array of data banks is now at our disposal which have to be consulted to do research that is state of the art. Not only have many new texts been edited, but, as a result of the digitization of manuscripts, the required level of philological accuracy has risen. It is no longer possible, for example, for want of something better to fall back on older or insufficient editions of patristic texts, if one wants to discuss credal developments. Since creeds have always been, as it were, ‘living texts’ that have constantly been adapted to ever-changing needs, editorial decisions by modern scholars with regard to certain readings of credal texts may no longer be taken for granted. Instead, in order fully to understand the history of the creeds, variant readings in each individual manuscript containing a particular credal text must be taken into account. This opens up a considerable number of new routes for research, but may, at the same time, discourage many scholars from undertaking such a daunting task.

89 This is different for other theological disciplines; see e.g. Jens Herzer, Anne Käfer and Jörg Frey (eds), Die Rede von Jesus Christus als Glaubensaussage: Der zweite Artikel des Apostolischen Glaubensbekenntnisses im Gespräch zwischen Bibelwissenschaft und Dogmatik (Tübingen, 2018); Thomas K. Kuhn (ed.), Bekennen – Bekenntnis – Bekenntnisse: Interdisziplinäre Zugänge, Greifswalder Theologische Forschungen 22 (Leipzig, 2014).

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Epilogue: A New Perspective on the Creeds From what has been said it may have become clear why after Kelly a new perspective on the creed is urgently called for and what some focal points of this new perspective might be. Let me conclude on a theological note. I ask in the title of my article: ‘What’s in a creed?’ The Church Fathers would have answered: everything. In their view, the creed was a summary of the Christian faith and contained all information pertaining to salvation. Even Kelly concluded his book by saying that the Church had compiled the ‘venerable rule of faith’ in the second century ‘as an epitome of the everlasting gospel’.90 I think modern research has shown that the development of the creed also led to a curtailing and limitation of the Gospel and to a loss of theological flexibility: the spirit coagulated into the letter.91 Creeds are helpful as summaries of some important tenets of the Christian faith – yet they are by no means comprehensive. They contain nothing of Jesus’ teaching. They say little about our salvation and nothing about how to lead a Christian life. In addition, they were used in a manner which we rightly consider problematic: they were sacralized and used to draw borders between orthodoxy and heresy by claiming that they contain the revealed truth. But creeds are no sacred texts. Even the most widely accepted early Christian creeds are not divinely inspired, but they are the product of Christian teaching and of synodal decisions. Yet demystifying the creeds does not mean debasing them: ideally, creeds point to the Gospel, they may serve as signposts to what faith truly is. As such they still deserve our appreciation. But Christians should keep in mind that it is not faith that is the greatest Christian virtue, it is love (1Cor. 13:13).92

90 J.N.D. Kelly, Creeds (1972), 434. See ibid. 131 where he calls R ‘a compendium of popular theology’. 91 See Wolfram Kinzig, ‘From the Letter to the Spirit to the Letter: The Faith as Written Creed’ [2013], in id., Texte (2017), 293-310. 92 See Augustine, Enchiridion 31, CChr.SL 46, 117.3-7: Cum enim quaeritur, utrum quisque sit homo bonus, non quaeritur, quid credat aut quid speret, sed quid amet. Nam qui recte amat procul dubio recte credit et sperat; qui uero non amat inaniter credit, etiam si sint uera quae credit. ‘For when we ask whether someone is a good person, we are not asking what he believes or hopes, but what he loves. Now, beyond all doubt, he who truly loves has true faith and hope. Likewise, he who does not love believes in vain, even if what he believes is true’ (tr. NPNF, altered).

ORIENTALIA

Creation Theology in the Writings of Ephrem the Syrian Arne J. HOBBEL, Mahatma Gandhi University, Kerala, India

ABSTRACT In this short article we deal with only some aspects of Ephrem’s theology of creation: on God as Creator in the beginning, his creation of man especially with regard to Gen. 1:26-7 in his Commentary on Genesis as well as some passages from elsewhere in his writings as comparison or contrast, among these from his genuine hymns.

In this article we deal with only some aspects of Ephrem’s theology of creation: on God as Creator in the beginning, his creation of man especially with regard to Gen. 1:26-7 in his Commentary on Genesis as well as some passages from elsewhere in his writings as comparison or contrast, among these from his genuine hymns. Even this effort will represent only a sketch. Firstly we will, however, describe very briefly his places of abode in the framework of their geographical location, their history and culture as well as him in the wider context of the most important predecessors and contemporary writers of Syriac (Christian Aramaic) literature of his age of the fourth century AD as well as a few words on Ephrem’s own writings. Ephrem (ca. 306-9 vii 373) is considered as the greatest of all Syriac creative writers, not least for his beautiful poems.

Ephrem’s places of abode: Nisibis and Edessa Ephrem the Syrian (ca. 306-9 vii 373) spent most of his life in Nisibis, now Nusaybin, in South-East Turkey. Knowledge of the city is therefore essential in order to understand the background of Ephrem’s life and his views.1 The location of the town made the city important in war as well as in trade. The 1 See e.g. Hendrik J.W. Drijvers, ‘Nisibis’, TRE 24 (1994), 573-76. References to passages in works of Ephrem are cited according to the relevant texteditions by Edmund Beck, CSCO, except where explicitly informed otherwise. CGen follows R.M. Tonneau, Sancti Ephraem Syri in Genesim et in Exodum commentarii, CSCO 152, Syr. 71 and CSCO 153, Syr. 72 (Louvain, 1955); Hyp 1 is cited according to the edition of J. Josephus Overbeck: S. Ephraemi Syri: Rabulae Episcopi Edesseni Balaei Aliorumque, Opera Selecta (e codicibus syriacis manuscriptis in museo britannico et bibliotheca bodleiana asservatis primus edidit J. Josephus Overbeck) (Oxford, 1865).

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broader region of Mesopotamia represented ‘a mosaic of peoples, languages and cultures’.2 During the life of Ephrem in the fourth c. Nisibis was conquered thrice by Šapur II (309-379). Ephrem served as deacon under the bishops of Nisibis, the first of these was Jacob of Nisibis, who was called ‘the Moses of Mesopotamia’. He gave Ephrem the task of expounding / interpreting the Scripture. Jacob shall have died in 338. There is claimed to exist head reliquaries of the latter in Hildesheim, Germany. At the time of Ephrem Nisibis still had a significant number of Jewish inhabitants. Nisibis fell in the hands of the Sassanids Empire 363 and the Christian population had to leave. Ephrem moved to Edessa.3 The Christian community in Nisibis In his madrashe (prayer songs or ‘hymns’) on Nisibis, a collection of seventyseven lyrical poems, Ephrem himself (or some later editor / collector of his works) deals with Nisibis and its bishops in the first thirtyfour poems.4 Nisibis and the surrounding areas represented a complex mix when it concerns history, population, languages and traditions. ‘Syriac Christianity is at its most distinctive in the fourth-century writers, and it has its own individual ascetic and proto-monastic tradition, quite independent at this date from the forms of monasticism which were developing in Egypt at the same time’.5 Most ‘scholars seem to agree that the Christian community in Nisibis was less Hellenized than that in Edessa (perhaps because it lies farther to the east)’,6 but the earliest Christian inscription from Nisibis was written in Greek, not in Syriac.7 There might be reasons to claim that ‘Christianity must have been present in Nisibis before 215’,8 but the Abercius inscription alone does not neccesarily provide us with any data about the Christians in Nisibis before 216 AD.9 Edessa Ephrem spent the last ten years of his life in Edessa (363-373).10 Our knowledge of the first Syriac Christians in Edessa comes from three sources, mainly 2 J. Neusner, History of the Jews (New York, 1990), 1, 2-3. Paul S. Russel, ‘Nisibis as the Background to the Life of Ephrem the Syrian’, Hugoye 8 (2005 [2009]), 189. 3 S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline of Syriac Literature, Moran Etho 9 (rev. ed. Kottayam, 2009), 16. 4 Ibid. 20. 5 Ibid. 3. 6 P.S. Russel, ‘Nisibis as the Background to the Life of Ephrem the Syrian’ (2005 [2009]), 190. 7 Ibid. 8 David Bundy, ‘The Life of Abercius: Its significance for Early Syriac Christianity’, in: Everett Ferguson (ed.), Doctrinal Diversity: Varieties of Early Christianity, Recent Studies in early Christianity 4 (New York, London, 1999), 243-56. 9 Ibid. 248. 10 S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline (2009), 16.

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from the writings of the school of Bardaisan, Ephrem’s polemics and also the Chronicle of Edessa.11 There exist at least three hypothesises about the origin of the Syriac Christians of Edessa:12 The first Syriac Christians were converts from Judaism (principally in areas such as Nisibis and Adiabene); the first Syriac Christians were converts from other religions of northern Mesopotamia; the earliest Syriac Christians were Marcionites.

Contemporaries of Ephrem Among the important contemporaries of Ephrem (in a broader sense) are Aphrahat, the author of Liber Graduum, Narsai and Jacob of Serugh. Aphrahat (‘the Persian Sage’) (ca. 280-ca. 345), wrote within the Persian Empire. He is the author of Demonstrations13 and must have had some authority and influence within the Church.14 Aphrahats Demonstrations represent the first extensive piece of Syriac literature that has survived. He is one of the least hellenized of Syriac authors.15 Book of Steps (Liber Graduum).16 We do not know the author of Liber Graduum (Book of Steps), but he must almost certainly have lived in the Persian Empire writing in the late fourth c. or possibly early fifth century. It contains a collection of thirty Syriac discourses (memre) preceded by an introductory essay (mamllā) on the spiritual life and the pursuit of perfection. Narsai (ca. 399-ca. 502) is probably ‘the most important poet of the East’.17 He was born in the Persian Empire. He stands in the tradition of the Antiochian theology. In his memre (verse homilies) also the theology of Ephrem and frequent concepts of the School of Edessa play a role.18

11 William Tabernee (ed.), Early Christianity in Contexts: An Exploration across Cultures and Continents (Grand Rapids, 2014), 91-2 under ‘The First Syriac Christians’. 12 Ibid. 92. 13 S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline (2009), 13. 14 Cf. Demonstrations 10 and 14 (addressed to ‘the bishops and clergy’). 15 S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline (2009), 16. 16 To the following on the Book of Steps, see S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline (2009), 22-4; R.A. Kitchen and M.F.G. Parmentier, The Book of Steps. The Syriac Liber Graduum (Kalamazoo, 2004); M. Kmosko, Liber Graduum, PS 3 (Paris, 1926); Gisela Fuchs, Auflehnung und Fall im syrischen Buch der Stufen (Liber graduum): Eine motiv- und traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung, Orientalia Biblica et Christiana 19 (Wiesbaden, 2012). 17 S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline (2009), 29. 18 H.J.W. Drijvers, ‘Nisibis’ (1994), 574; Alphonse Mingana, Narsai Homiliae et carmina (1905).

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Jacob of Serugh (W, d. 29 Nov. 521)19 has been characterized as ‘perhaps the finest Syriac poet after Ephrem’. He is famous for his very large number of memre (on the twelve-syllable metre) which have survived.20

Ephrem’s writings Ephrem (ca. 306-9 vii 373) has been characterized as ‘the finest and greatest of all Syriac poets’.21 His great fame rests mainly upon his poetry which constitute his most important writings. This consists of lyrical poems (madrashe, or prayer songs; usually [Brock: ‘conventionally’] translated ‘hymns’).22 He wrote both poetry and prose: lyrical poems (madrashe, or prayer songs, often translated ‘hymns’), poetry in the form of narrative verse (memre) as well as ordinary prose works and artistic proseworks.23 His works contain a multitude of different themes and topics. Among the ordinary prose works of Ephrem (or attributed to him) are a set of commentaries on most of the Old Testament which is attributed to Ephrem. Of these only the Genesis and Exodus commentaries are probably genuine or at least coming from his circle. These follow a pattern of commenting upon the scriptural text in sequence, but not evenly. The Commentary (pushaqa) on Genesis focuses to a large extent on the early chapters (especially ch. 1-6). The rest of the book is only intermittantly commented upon. To Gen. 49, however, Ephrem gives two different sets of comments. What seems clear is that Ephrem lived in an area and in towns (Nisibis and Edessa) which represented a crossroad or ‘highway’ of multicultural character and (economic) trade routes with many different people with different languages moving through (and thereby) traditions and influences. In this environment Ephrem had his most important ‘formative’ period developing his thoughts and theology. After this very brief introduction to Ephrem and his milieu, let us now turn to his own writings: how they witness about how he understands God’s role at the creation, the creation of man in particular with respect to man created in the image of God and the way of man’s perfection of the image of God. We have already mentioned Ephrem’s Commentary (pushaqa) on Genesis above. Together with his Commentary on Exodus this can be considered most likely to be genuine or to come from his circle. We will take our starting point in his Commentary on Genesis.

19 20 21 22 23

To the following on Jacob of Serugh, see esp. S.P. Brock, A Brief Outline (2009), 30-1. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 17-22. Ibid.

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Ephrem’s theology of creation with special emphasis on the creation of man according to Gen. 1:26 God’s role at the creation Ephrem takes the creation story of Gen. 1, about God’s creation in the beginning, as literal. The creation took place in six days.24 The creation of the heavens and the earth is not symbolic, and there is nothing interpretive (turgama) in the works of these six days. The substance of the heavens and the substance of the earth were created. The heavens and the earth were real names, not symbolizing something else or meaningless. They were truly heaven and earth. The subsequent works and things created were also not meaningless significations ‘for the substance of their natures correspond to what their names signify’.25 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth [Gen. 1:1], that is, the substance of the heavens and the substance of the earth. So let no one think that there is anything allegorical in the works of the six days. No one can rightly say that the things that pertain to these days were symbolic, nor can one say that they were meaningless names or that other things were symbolized for us by their names. Rather, let us know in just what manner heaven and earth were created in the beginning. They were truly heaven and earth. There was no other thing signified by the names ‘heaven’ and ‘earth’. The rest of the works and things made that followed were not meaningless significations either, for the substances of their natures correspond to what their names signify.26

Ephrem emphasizes the aspect of God’s creatio ex nihilo again and again throughout his CGen to Gen. 1, for example in his comments on Gen. 1:4 and 1:31 about the words ‘behold, it was very good’ [Gen. 1.4] and ‘God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good’ [Gen. 1:31]: ‘the works that preceded the light … these things had come into existence out of nothing’.27 Man as created in the image of God There was nothing created on earth that was not created for the purpose of mankind or for his service: It was the will of God, the Creator, ‘to show that there was nothing created on earth that was not created for the purpose of mankind or for his service’.28 24 CGen to Gen. 1:2. Engl. trans. acc. to Patristic Bible Commentary, online version; Syr. ed. R.M. Tonneau, CSCO 152, Syr. 71 (Louvain, 1955). 25 CGen to Gen. 1:1: E.G. Mathews in St. Ephrem the Syrian: Selected Prose Works: Commentary on Genesis, Commentary on Exodus, Homily of our Lord, Letter to Publius, trans. Edward G. Mathews, Jr. and Joseph Amar, ed. Kathleen McVey, FC 91 (Washington, DC, 1994), 74. 26 Ibid. 27 Ephrem CGen to Gen. 1:4 and Gen. 1:31. Engl. trans. acc. to Patristic Bible Commentary, online version. See also Mathews, in FC 91 (1994), 81 (to Gen 1:4) and ibid. 81 and 89 (to Gen. 1:31). 28 CGen 14.1-3.

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Alluding to Gen. 1:26 Ephrem claims that there as well as in every (other) place where God creates it is clear that He is speaking to His Son: ‘And God said … [Gen. 1:26] To whom, then, is God speaking? Here and in every place where He creates it is clear that He is speaking to His Sonʼ.29 God the Creator addressed the Son when He created man as when he created everything else (all other creatures): He revealed and explained the Firstborn When he created Adam: ‘Let us make a human being In our image, according to our likeness’. It would be blind to think That he spoke [those words] to Adam. [Rather,] he who gave him life through the wood [of the cross] In the last millennium – the sixth – Fashioned [Adam] in the beginning. Also on the sixth day, When [Adam] provoked anger through the wood [of the tree].30

When it concerns Ephrem’s use of Gen. 1:26 in HdF 6,7 Edmund Beck comments: ‘Ephr. zitiert in HdF 6,7 die biblische Ausgangsstelle in der Form der Peš: b-ṣalman a(y)k dmūtan, also ohne das kai (et) der LXX u. Vulg. Eine die beiden Ausdrücke trennende Interpretation fehlt dementsprechend bei ihm. Er geht im Brief von dem schon oben gebrauchten dmūtâ aus u. setzt dafür anschließend gleichbedeutend ṣalmâ (Bild).31

N. el-Khoury puts forward the thesis that Ephrem distinguishes in CGen between three ways of understanding the language of Gen. 1:26: It realizes itself in the person of the Son of God; in human freedom and in human authority over creation.32 Mourachian, however, argues convincingly that ‘the first does not figure into CGen at all’, that ‘the second has been contested’ and that ‘the last is clearly supported by the text of CGen’.33 Regarding CGen 23.24-5 there exist two very different renderings. El-Khoury introduces the second locus of the image of God, human freedom, by quoting 29

CGen 23.17-19; Syr. ed. R.M. Tonneau, CSCO 152, Syr. 71 (1955), 86. HdF 6.7, St. Ephrem the Syrian: The Hymns on Faith, trans. Jeffrey T. Wickes, ed. David G. Hunter et al., FC 130 (Washington DC, 2015), 93. 31 Edmund Beck, ‘Ephraems Brief an Hypatios übersetzt und erklärt’, OC 58 (1974), 76-120, 80 n. 6. 32 Nabil El-Khoury, ‘Gen. 1,26 dans l’interprétation de saint Éphrem, ou la relation de l’homme à Dieu’, in Symposium Syriacum 1976, OCA 205 (Rome, 1978), 199. 33 Mark J. Mourachian, Human Freedom in the Context of the Theological Anthropology of St. Ephrem the Syrian. Dissertation submitted to the Faculty of the Department of Early Christian Studies, School of Arts and Sciences of the Catholic University of America in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Doctor of Philosophy (Washington DC, 2012), 9. 30

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the following passage from CGen: ‘And God said, “Let us make man in our image”, that is, endowed with authority to the extent that if it seems good to him, he may obey usʼ.34 Mathews, however, renders the passage quite differently. Doing so he departs from the consensus among most translators: ‘According to […] what has been the rule […] until now, namely, if it pleases God He will make it known to us’.35 The majority of scholars supports the view that human authority is the (primary) emphasis in this passage of CGen. In support of this latter rendering / interpretation we might here mention the following passage from CGen: ‘And God said, ‘Let us make man in our image’ [Gen. 1:26]. According to what has been said up to this point, he (from the context = Moses/ God) is able, as it pleases him, to interpret for us: Moses explains [‘in our image’] as follows ‘Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds, and over the cattle, and over all the earthʼ [Gen. 1:26]. It is thus the dominion that Adam received over the earth and over all that is in it that constitutes the likeness of God who has dominion over the heavenly things and the earthly things.36 In the first instance man as far as endowed with authority may obey God if he finds it good to do so. In the latter case God is the subject or agent: If God wishes to reveal something to us, he will do so (to the extent) as he chooses himself. Understood in the first way the passage may be seen as explaining briefly what it means to be created in the image of God. Understood in the second way it expresses God’s revelation to or teaching of man: God can reveal / teach man what He wants, with the implication that God does not have to reveal or tell everything to man. There is no question according to M.J. Mourachian, that human authority over creation ‘is the most clearly and expressly connected to the image of God in CGen’.37 In the following passage (subsequent to CGen 23.24-5) Moses himself explains more clearly what it is by means of which we are the image of God when he says: ‘Let them have authority over the fishes of the sea and over the birds and over the cattle and over all the earth’. It is, then, by virtue of the authority that Adam received over the earth and over all that is in it that he possesses the image of God, the one who rules over things above and things below’.38 In Ephrem’s prose refutations he contests the false doctrines of Bardaisan, Marcion and Mani. In his discourses addressed to Hypatius Ephrem connects authority with the image and the authoritative word with the likeness.39 34 35 36 37 38 39

Ibid. 12. E.G. Mathews, FC 91, 94 and preface (ix) which names Mathews as the translator of CGen. Ibid. 103, n. 98. M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 21. CGen 23.25-30. Hyp 1,21.12-22.11. See Overbeck’s edition cited in n. 1 for the Syriac text.

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In Ephrem’s CGen we saw that human authority over creation (and/or human freedom) constitutes Adam’s being made in the image of God. Here in Ephrem’s Discourses to Hypatius (Hyp 1, 21.12-22.11) we are introduced to (the notion of) the authoritative word as ‘that by means of which we are clothed with the likeness of God, because the word itself is like him’.40 The latter is not mentioned in his CGen. We may therefore say that authority over the creation (as seen earlier) as well as (authority in the form of) the authoritative word, both as given to man by God, are constituents of the divine image or likeness according to Ephrem. By means of this likeness we have an inclination toward and care for good things as well as the possibility (ability) to learn about God, the source of good things. By means of this word, which is like God, we are clothed with the likeness of God. The divine teaching seals the mind of those who learn about God so that they might become the image for God who knows all. There is, however, yet another aspect of the likeness, as seems from this passage of Ephrem: the freewill. God has given us the authoritative word, which is like the mouth’s word [if our understanding of the text is correct here] (cf. here also the authoritative tongue) so ‘that the authoritative word might serve our authoritative freewill’. Authority and free will are closely connected, as seen also already above in connection with the rendering / interpretation of the text in CGen where Ephrem is dealing with the passage of Gen. 1:26, a rendering of the text followed by most scholars as it seems.41 In CGen human authority over creation is most clearly and expressly connected to the image of God. Therefore authority over the creation, the authoritative word as well as freewill (human freedom) may be seen as consituents / aspects of the likeness or image of God according to Ephrem. Christ, however, as the Word of God, is the perfect image of God.42 At the same time Christ is the perfect figure of man.43

Man’s perfection of the image of God created in him in the beginning Ephrem conceives how we are conformed ever more clearly and fully to the divine image in which we were created in two ways: by means of knowledge of the truth and by true conduct.44 Adam became the image of God by virtue of his authority, a man becomes the image of God by means of knowledge of the truth and true conduct. By means of the word which is a gift from God and 40 41 42 43 44

M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 27. CGen 23.24-5. N. El-Khoury, ‘Gen. 1,26’ (1978), 200, citing CDiss 1.3. Ibid. 201. Hyp 1, 21.12-22.11.

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which is like God, we are clothed with the likeness of God. These two elements constituting the image and likeness (authority and the authoritative word) may be seen as (closely) interconnected. Through the dynamic process mediated by the authoritative word man progresses towards a more complete possession of the divine image. From the very beginning Adam had to choose to obey or not, to follow the way of life or the way of death. In man’s situation after the fall man has to choose. Man’s perfection of the image of God created in him in the beginning by means of knowledge of the truth In man’s situation after the fall man has to choose (cf. free will), but how can man know what to choose rightly and not go astray? How can man get to know the truth? How can man get to know God? And is there a possible connection between knowledge and freedom and freedom and human action? All creatures were created by God who inscribed his symbols upon his possessions and adorned the world with His images.45 At the creation God brought all creatures into being and inscribed them, his possessions, with the distinctive marks of Himself.46 God’s symbol is everywhere (in nature) and His types are everywhere (in the Bible), the word being ultimately the incarnated Word Christ. All of nature and all of Scripture bear witness about God and represent manifestations of Him.47 By using the (silent) nature and by reading the Scripture (the word), we get to know God.48 Nature cooperates with the Scripture. Our Lord (Christ) sings on three harps: signs, symbols and figures, and blends them in order that nature and Scripture can rebuke the unbelievers.49 In his Hymns on Faith Ephrem asks the question: ‘Is anyone able to tell me whence you know the nature of the Lord of all? God forbid that I should ever profess to know!ʼ He adds and goes on to tell: the Scripture witness about Him. Nature and Scripture bear witness to each other. Ephrem listened and firmly believed in Him and by his faith he ‘restrained the inquiry’ of his ‘audacityʼ. As there is a limit to nature, there is a limit to man’s inquiry and investigation: ‘If men cross the boundary of the books, their investigation is [their] death’.50 Ephrem accuses the Arians, his main opponents within the Church, for the sin of investigation. ‘They freely choose to try to circumvent God’s chosen means of self-revelation in preference for an allegedly direct (i.e., unmediated) 45 46 47 48 49 50

HdVirg 20.12; comp. here also HdF 76.12 and Virg 21.10. HdVirg 20.12. HdParad 5.2. Ibid. HdVirg 30.1. HdF 64.10-2.

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apprehension of God as he is in his essenceʼ.51 It is a sign of bad faith52 and it is linked to adultery.53 God is hidden for man. Unless God wants to make Himself known to us, there is nothing in Creation that is able to interpret Him.54 It is God’s free will to reveal Himself to us. Man’s knowledge of God is dependent on His will to do so. Images, types and symbols are raze, bearers of mysteries.55 By his cross Christ perfects the symbols and parables of the Scriptures. He is the source and the fulfillment of all types, images, and symbols, the fountain of all rushing streams.56 He ‘put on Adamʼ, ‘put on the body’.57 Being the incarnated Son of God he is the ultimate revelation of God and the sole bridge over the chasm that separates God and creation, God and man. Christ is the hidden bridge that leads from death to life.58 Therefore Ephrem prays: ‘Let me cross over You to Your Fatherʼ.59 Above all it is Scripture, not nature, that provides us with knowledge of both Christ’s humanity and divinity.60 In other passages nature and Scripture seem to provide equally valid sources of revelation.61 Man’s inquiry is no end in itself. It is only a means to more profound knowledge of God. When a man inquires rightly, he is able to pray like Ephrem: ‘Whatever is permitted, Lord, let us sing with our lyre!’, ‘let us not speak anything not under our authority’, ‘may my tongue be a reed [pen] for your praise’, ‘Praise to your teaching!’62 All knowing is oriented towards the worship of God. All true knowledge as well as all (true) life have their (ultimate) source in the person of the incarnate Lord. By faith and love and wisdom man stands in his intimate relationship to God and is formed in the image of God (the Truth).63 Man’s perfection of the image of God created in him in the beginning by means of true conduct Above we have dealt (mainly) with the first aspect of how Ephrem understands how we are conformed ever more clearly and fully to the divine image 51

See e.g. HdF 8.9; HdF 44.7 To investigation as a sign of bad faith, see M.J.Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 138-50. 53 HdF 44.10. 54 Ibid. 44.7. 55 To raze and other terms in Ephrem’s symbolic theory, see Tannios Bou Mansour, La Pensée symbolique de saint Ephrem le Syrien, Bibliothèque de l’Université Saint-Esprit 16 (Kaslik, 1988), 23-71. 56 HdVirg 9.10.15. 57 Cf. HdNat 9.2, 23.13. 58 HdF 6.17. 59 Ibid. 60 Ibid. 65.2. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 51.6. J.T. Wickes, FC 130, 266-7. 63 Ibid. 80.2-3. 52

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in which we were created: knowledge of the truth. Now, let us turn to the second constituent of Ephrem’s conception of how we are conformed ever more clearly and fully to the divine image in which we were created: true conduct. Our Lord plays three harps64 and in his faith the believer plays three harps:65 The believer (the Church) plays with all three harps since the three names (the names of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit) baptized him. The Church (the believer) in faith plays on the three harps of Scripture, Christ and nature on the grounds of the three names that baptized him. Ephrem thereby sees baptism, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, as fundamental for true Christan life. Ephrem’s vision of how human persons’ progress toward being perfected in God’s image is connected to the free will. Human freedom takes its place among the aspects constituting man’s image of God, but in his exegesis of Gen. 1:26 in his CGen it is not the chief. ‘While it certainly constitutes a fundamental part of what it means to be created in God’s image, freedom takes on a more explicit and prominent role in Ephrem’s vision of how human persons progress toward being perfected in that image or, conversely, how they fall short of the measure for which they were createdʼ.66 There is a strong connection between the human capacity of speech and the possession of freedom.67 El-Khoury claims that, according to Ephrem, it is freewill that, above all else, constitutes the image of God in the human person. Being created in the image of God means that man has the freedom to heed or to ignore him, to obey or to disobey him. This interpretation we have already touched above, but his arguments from claim to conclusion is not clear. Ephrem’s remarks to Gen. 1:26 in his CGen68 does not necessarily reflect El-Khoury’s ‘exact emphasis on free willʼ.69 Although the connection between human freedom and the image of God is operative there, Ephrem does not use the terminology expected. The emphasis in CGen is not ‘so explicitely and exclusively on the notion of freedom as suchʼ.70 We do, however, in Ephrem find other passages that seem to emphasize man’s freedom as constituent of his being made in the image of God.71 Because of his freedom granted by God, Adam is called ‘a created godʼ, and being made ‘a created godʼ, he can act freely following his own will. We are made in the image of God by virtue of our freedom to obey him or not.72 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

HdVirg 30.1. Ibid. 27.4. M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 35. HdF 23.7. CGen 23.24-5. M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 20. Ibid. 21. SdF 3.31-8. CGen 23.24-5. Cf. also above to the discussion on this passage.

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The relationship between God’s gift (grace) and (human) freedom has a dual aspect:73 it embraces cooperation and synergy when the relationship is healthy,74 although the two are not equal. Seen in a wider context grace (God’s gift) has primacy or priority over cooperation.75 Ephrem’s emphasis ‘is on the character of grace as an invitation and a means of help extended to human persons so that they may become fully human, that they may progress toward perfection in accord with the divine image given them at their creationʼ.76 Ephrem praises ‘the gift of speech in the mouths of orators, though it does not hinder their freedom through its discourse!’77 We can then say that for Ephrem freedom and authority belong together. Freedom is the basis on which authority can be exercised. Grace, understood as God’s gift, constitute the foundation on which both freedom and authority rest. This was the case in the beginning when man was created by God in His image and He granted man freedom and authority, and it applies to the whole life of man in his progress of becoming perfected in His image. Freedom’s power is rooted in the gift of God. Both contribute complementarily or interdependently to man’s progress of becoming perfected in the image of God.78 The Incarnate Christ, who is the ultimate image of God, came to set free man’s freedom.79 By God’s gift of freedom man can choose to obey or disobey, choose death or life.80 Therefore Ephrem prays to God that he might heal our freedom.81 Christ himself came to set free the freedom of man.82 Rightly exercised man’s freedom cooperates with God’s guiding will, His gift of grace. The seeds come from us, the fruits come from God’s will. It does not teach us laziness.83 In his views on the role of freedom and God’s gift of grace Ephrem may seem to present a contradiction or conflict between the two. Some may view him as overemphasizing human freedom on the cost of grace. Others find such a conclusion not justified and find a ‘fundamental unity between the seemingly conflicting presentations that Ephrem offers’ and proposing the theme of cooperation as ‘one of the keys to that unity’.84

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84

M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 225. See ibid. 229, 231. See ibid. 231. Ibid. 226. Italics by the undersigned; HdF 25.3. HdF 25.3. J.T. Wickes, FC 130, 168. Comp. M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 237-8. HdNat 26.10; cf. HdNat 22.5. HdEccl 19.7. HcH 11.1. HdNat 26.10; cf. HdNat 22.5. HdF 25.10. Cf. M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 235-6.

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On the way to perfecting the image of God created in man at the beginning biblical figures serve as models of how man shall act and think.85 They represent righteous examples of teaching man about himself and what his life might look like were he to become his true self86 and serve as encouragement and exhortation for man to become the person God created him to be, but also as a warning. Paradise makes clear to those who enter to what extent they have lived their free life in a proper way through their life on earth.87 Other passages by Ephrem, also using the image of keys, seem more clearly emphasizing the aspect that entering Paradise is a gift of grace freely received by man.88 I saw a dwelling and a tabernacle of light, and a voice that said, ‘Blessed is the thief who freely received the keys to Paradise!’89

God himself is the source (of it all). He gave up His Son that we (man) might believe in Him. (The incarnated) Christ himself, who is the ultimate image of God, gives man (the just who enters Paradise) His keys.90 This seems counterpointing Parad 2.2, where emphasis is put on man’s exercise of freedom. Other passages by Ephrem have both aspects: God’s grace and man’s freedom to act.91 In Paradise the just (who enter) have received their crowns and have found rest in their dwellings. Their battles are over. They have received their crowns and have found rest in their dwellings (in Paradise).92 Conclusion In his Commentary on Genesis (CGen) Ephrem emphasizes authority / dominion over the creation as man’s image of God. In his Discourse to Hypatius (Hyp 1) he combines the authority with the image and the authoritative word with the likeness. In other passages (e.g. SdF 3) he points to freedom as a constituent element of the image. Freedom and authority belong together. The incarnate Christ is the proper image. God’s gift of grace is the ultimate foundation of it all. 85 To Paradise and the just in Paradise, cf. esp. M.J. Maurachian, Human Freedom (2012), 240ff. 86 Cf. HdParad 13.15, 14.12. 87 Ibid. 2.2. 88 Ibid. 7.1. 89 Ibid. 8.2. 90 Ibid. 91 Ibid. 14:4-5. 92 Ibid. 7.23.

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Comparing CGen with Hyp 1 Ephrem may seem to be inconsistant. CGen seems to point out, as we have seen, authority / dominion as the (main) constituent of man’s image of God or possibly, though being contested, as others view it: human freedom, while Hyp 1 in contrast emphasizes the authoritative word. Ephrem in his method and procedure of exegesis does not attempt to produce a systematic order. In one passage he may emphasize one aspect over others, in other texts put more weight on another as Edmund Beck describes: ‘Ephr. bringt zu dem Imago-charakter des Menschen in seinem Werken fast alle Einzelheiten, die sich dazu in der griech.-lat. Patristik finden, aber ohne jeden Versuch einer systematischen Ordnungʼ.93 In neither of the texts of CGen nor Hyp 1 ‘does he single out one aspect and explicitly (or even implicitly) exclude othersʼ.94 Ephrem understands ‘the human possession of God’s image to be a manifold reality irreducible to any aspect of its fullness’.95

93 94 95

E. Beck, ‘Ephraems Brief an Hypatios übersetzt und erklärt’ (1974), 80 n. 6. M.J. Mourachian, Human Freedom (2012), 34. Ibid.

The Biblical Sources of the Eschatology of Aphrahat Seth M. STADEL, University of Oxford, UK

ABSTRACT A comprehensive study of Syriac eschatology has yet to be conducted, though initial studies have been carried out by such scholars as Oscar Braun, Frank Gavin, Brian Daley, and David G.K. Taylor. While unedited and understudied Syriac texts, as well as the infancy state of Peshitta studies, certainly pose notable setbacks in their own rite, a study of early Syriac eschatology is possible for select well-known writers not only in scope, as Daley has shown, but also in the establishment of sources used, particularly biblical sources. This essay seeks to add to the discussion of Syriac eschatology by analyzing the biblical sources Aphrahat (d. 345) used to formulate his eschatology. First, I will identify the biblical sources used by Aphrahat to construct his eschatology, and then I will suggest some possible motivations for the use of the most important biblical texts chosen.

A comprehensive study of Syriac eschatology 1 has yet to be conducted, though initial studies have been carried out by such scholars as Oscar Braun, Frank Gavin, Brian Daley, and David G.K. Taylor.2 It is perhaps worth mentioning that this particular topic has been largely overlooked to date for two possible reasons: 1) large numbers of Syriac texts (even from important figures such as Narsai and Jacob of Serugh) remain unedited and little studied and so a more complete picture of Syriac eschatology is simply not yet possible; 2) compared to studies in the predominant biblical languages (Hebrew and Greek), Peshitta studies is still in its infancy and so a proper understanding of how and why various biblical texts were used by Syriac writers awaits further research. While both of these problems certainly pose notable setbacks in their own rite, a study of early Syriac eschatology is possible for select well-known writers not only in scope, as Daley has shown, but also in the establishment of sources used, particularly biblical sources. 1

I would like to thank David G.K. Taylor and Bogdan Draghici for offering critical feedback on an earlier draft of this paper. 2 Oscar Braun, ‘Beiträge zur Geschichte der Eschatologie in den syrischen Kirchen’, Z. Kathol. Theol. 16 (1892), 273-312; Frank Gavin, ‘The Sleep of the Soul in the Early Syriac Church’, JAOS 40 (1920), 103-20; Brian Daley, The Hope of the Early Church, A Handbook of Patristic Eschatology (Grand Rapids, MI, 2002); David G.K. Taylor, ‘L’Apocalypse de Jean en syriaque: Des origines à Diamper’, in Jean-Claude Haelewyck (ed.), Le Nouveau Testament en syriaque, Études syriaques 14 (Paris, 2017), 27-53.

Studia Patristica CXXV, 111-122. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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This article seeks to add to the discussion of Syriac eschatology by analyzing the biblical sources Aphrahat (d. 345 AD) used to formulate his eschatology. First, I will summarize Aphrahat’s eschatological system. Second, I will identify the biblical sources used by Aphrahat to construct his eschatology, the majority of which are found in Demonstration 8 and 22. Third, I will discuss Aphrahat’s two most important biblical texts, namely Matt. 25 and 1Cor. 15. Fourth, I will briefly discuss known eschatological texts which are either unused or only alluded to by Aphrahat and suggest that a primary motivation behind his selectivity of eschatological passages was largely twofold: 1) he desires to establish hope for Christians beyond the grave, especially concerning a physical resurrection of the body in reaction to perceived fourth-century understandings of Bardaisan of Edessa (154-222 AD) and Origen of Alexandria (184-253 AD) and 2) he seeks to encourage perseverance within the Christian community in the Sasanian empire, especially in the face of impending death (i.e. martyrdom) due to Shapur II’s (309-79 AD) persecution against Christians. 1. Aphrahat’s Eschatological System At the outset, it is important to keep in mind that the Book of Revelation was not canonized until the early fifth century by the Greek East and Latin West. Revelation was not translated into Syriac until the sixth century, and the first known Syriac commentary on Revelation (which is anonymous) was not written until somewhere between the eighth and eleventh centuries, followed by Dionysios bar Salibi and Grigorios bar ‘Ebroyo’s commentaries in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, respectively.3 As the Maronite priest and scholar, Joseph Amar, has pointed out, even after the Syriac-speaking churches accepted Revelation (beginning in the sixteenth century, due to Catholic and Protestant missionary influence), it has never been a functional part of the weekly worship services.4 It should not be surprising, then, that the New Testament canon available to Aphrahat did not include Revelation.5 Thus a simple question needs to be 3

D.G.K. Taylor, ‘L’Apocalypse’ (2017), 39, 45. Joseph Amar, e-mail message to author, 17 September 2014. See D.G.K. Taylor, ‘L’Apocalypse’ (2017), 44-5 and Heleen Murre-van den Berg, Scribes and Scriptures: The Church of the East in the Eastern Ottoman Provinces (1500‒1850), Eastern Christian Studies 21 (Louvain, 2015), 2334. It is worth noting that the Greek East has traditionally placed little emphasis on Rev. as well. For instance, while partial Greek commentaries of this book potentially began as early as the second century, the first full commentary was not produced until the early sixth century by a certain Oecumenius, and no substantial commentary has been written on it since Arethas’s commentary in the tenth century. See William C. Weinrich (ed.), Revelation, Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture 12 (Downers Grove, IL, 2006), xx-xxix. 5 See D.G.K. Taylor, ‘L’Apocalypse’ (2017), 28-31. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, the editors and translators of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Series II (which contains 4

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asked: From which biblical books was he deriving his eschatology? As will be shown, Aphrahat (who lived in the Sasanian empire) developed his own forms of eschatology using such biblical books as Matt., 1Cor., Lk., Jn., Gen., and Is.6 Though not discussed in detail in this article, he was also influenced by early Semitic and Greek views of the afterlife,7 particularly the realm of Sheol and the sleep of the soul. The convergence of the biblical texts available to him, along with traditional views of the afterlife, provided Aphrahat with a unique ability to develop a distinct eschatology within the early Syriac-speaking church. Daley offers the first attempt to sketch a preliminary outline of eschatological thought in the early Church through the seventh century. While his monograph, The Hope of the Early Church, presents a tantalizing introduction to the basic systems of eschatological thought that developed primarily in the Greek East and Latin West, he does touch on select important early Syriac writers, one of which is Aphrahat. Since Daley’s work offers a concise outline of his eschatology, it would be useful for our discussion to briefly summarize his argument.8 The main source for Aphrahat’s eschatology is found in Demonstration 8: ‘On the Dead Ones Coming to Life’ and Demonstration 22: ‘On Death and the End Times’. Aphrahat’s eschatology does not conform to any previous system of eschatological thought, whether Syriac, Greek, or Latin. Rather than focusing on ‘Christian apocalyptic traditions on the end of history or the material universe’,9 it heavily emphasizes death and Sheol, the realm of the dead, as depicted in the Old Testament and various Jewish apocalyptic sources. He uses images and vivid personifications to express his eschatological views, rather Aphrahat’s Demonstrations) included three references to Rev. (2:11; 20:14; 21:18) on the assumption that the words ‘second death’ can only be derived from Rev. See id., Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Series II (1885), 381. However, Aphrahat is arguably deriving this phrase from an alternate biblical or extra biblical source. 6 This article does not seek to establish an early version of the Peshitta but merely to contextualize Aphrahat’s selection of various biblical texts for the purposes of his eschatology. For an example of using his selected biblical texts to establish an early form of the Peshitta, see Robert J. Owens, Jr., The Genesis and Exodus Citations of Aphrahat the Persian Sage (Leiden, 1997). 7 Daley suggests that Aphrahat draws some of the themes of his biblical eschatology from the Christian apologists of the second century, such as Aristides, Justin Martyr, Tatian, Athenagoras, and Theophilus of Antioch, all of whom defend a physical resurrection of the dead and a Final Judgement for all people. See B. Daley, The Hope (2002), 20-4, 173. While the apologetic texts mentioned by Daley, such as Justin Martyr’s 1Apology and Theophilus of Antioch’s To Autolycus, contain parallel usages of the same biblical texts utilized by Aphrahat, this alone is not evidence for Aphrahat’s dependence upon them. Daley does not consider the fact that several of the apologists, such as Athenagoras and Theophilus of Antioch, were never translated into Syriac and those that were translated did not occur until after Aphrahat died. There is little, if any, evidence that such writings circulated in the Sasanian empire in the fourth century. 8 The following is a summary of B. Daley, The Hope (2002), 72-4. 9 Ibid. 72.

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than through technical understandings of cosmology or by fourth-century physiological perceptions of the world. One example of a personification that he uses is that of Death, who as a tyrannical ruler, wants to enslave all humanity but who was defeated by Christ’s decent into Hades, where it was poisoned by Christ and will ultimately come to an end.10 Aphrahat does not believe any person has yet received a final reward or punishment. Rather, at death, the spirit and the body are separated – the body and its animal spirit are buried (which is the realm of Sheol) and its heavenly spirit (the Holy Spirit received at baptism) returns to Christ. The dead are not truly ‘dead’; they have ‘a kind of anticipatory consciousness of their own future which is akin to dreaming in earthly sleep’.11 The good servant eagerly anticipates a reward from Christ, while the other servants dread their coming torments. When the Judgement occurs, the resurrection will also simultaneously happen, where those who now sleep will awake and will be returned to their natural state in its fullness. Paradise, for Aphrahat, reflects his encratic ideals: an ineffably blessed and beautiful place where passions (specifically sexual struggles) and the ability to age are utterly removed. Here, one will live eternally, be loved and reciprocate perfected love, experience the fullness of joy, and be forever enveloped by God’s light. The wicked, on the other hand, will return to Sheol and will be forever punished according to their individual sins. At this time, God will unmake the earth and create something new for humanity, though Aphrahat is uncertain of the details as to how this will become a reality. 2. The Biblical Sources of Aphrahat’s Eschatology While Daley’s outline is quite useful, he unfortunately does not offer much in the way of biblical sources used by Aphrahat to develop his eschatology. Therefore, I will examine Aphrahat’s writings to see which biblical texts he favored in the formation of his eschatological views.12 As mentioned by Daley, the main source of Aphrahat’s eschatological thought is found in Demonstration 8 and 22, though (unmentioned by Daley) there is also a scattering of eschatological references in Demonstration 1: ‘On Faith’, Demonstration 4: ‘On Prayer’, Demonstration 5: ‘On War’, Demonstration 6: ‘On Covenanters’ (the main concentration of which is found in Demonstration 6.14), Demonstration 7: ‘On the Penitent’, Demonstration 9: ‘On Humility’, 10 For a further discussion of this theme, see Robert Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition, rev. ed. (Piscataway, NJ, 2004), 326. 11 B. Daley, The Hope (2002), 73. 12 In this article discussions of Aphrahat’s eschatology broadly encompass the following: the resurrection of humanity, the Final Judgement, and concepts of eternity in either Paradise or Sheol. References to Jesus’ death and resurrection, as recorded in the Gospels, are not explicitly included unless Aphrahat uses them as a springboard to explain a particular aspect of his eschatology.

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Demonstration 14: ‘An Argument in Response to Dissension’, Demonstration 20: ‘On the Support of the Poor’, and Demonstration 23: ‘On the Grapecluster’. The biblical references cited in these (and other) Demonstrations have been conveniently footnoted and/or discussed, initially in the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers13 and subsequently (with varying degrees of alterations) in J. Parisot14 and Marie-Joseph Pierre’s editions,15 as well as Kuriakose Antony Valavanolickal’s study of Aphrahat’s usages of the Gospel Parables.16 If we consider only the biblical verses17 that Aphrahat uses to develop his eschatological position, in Demonstration 8 there are 94 biblical quotations/allusions (including an overt reference back to Demonstration 6.14, where he cites 7 biblical texts of interest), and in Demonstration 22 there are 78 such references.18 Within his other Demonstrations, there is a combined 46 references. In order to see which biblical texts were most important to Aphrahat, these citations have been collected and listed in descending order of frequency:19 ● Matt. 5:3; 6:20; 7:8, 12; 8:20; 9:24; 10:26; 19:28; 20:1-10 (2×), 11 (3×),

12-16 (2×); 22:13 (2×), 28, 29-32; 24:35; 25:1-3 (9×), 4 (10×), 5 (9×), 6 13 John Gwynn (trans.), ‘Selections Translated into English from the Hymns of Ephraim the Syrian, and from the Demonstrations of Aphrahat the Persian Sage’, in Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (eds), A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church: Second Series, Volume 13, Part 2: Gregory the Great, Ephraim Syrus, Aphrahat (New York, 1898), 343-412. The online form of the NPNF is the ‘Christian Classics Ethereal Library’, which can be found at the following website: http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf213.toc.html. 14 J. Parisot, Aphraatis Sapientis Persae Demonstrationes, Patrologia Syriaca 1.1 (Paris, 1894) and id., Aphraatis Sapientis Persae Demonstratio XXIII De Acino, Patrologia Syriaca 2 (Paris, 1907). 15 Marie-Joseph Pierre, Aphraate le Sage Persan: Les Exposés, SC 349, 359 (Paris, 1988-1989). I have not had time to consider more recent editions of the Demonstrations published by Peter Bruns, Kuriakose Valavanolickal, Francesco Pericoli Ridolfini, and Giovanni Lenzi. 16 Kuriakose Antony Valavanolickal, The Use of the Gospel Parables in the Writings of Aphrahat and Ephrem, Studies in the Religion and History of Early Christianity 2 (New York, 1996). 17 One should keep in mind that chapter and verse divisions, as are commonly found in modern Western Bibles, were not standardized until roughly the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries, respectively. 18 In comparative studies of the NPNF, Parisot’s edition, and Pierre’s edition, I noted several errors (whether printing or clerical) in the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. In contrast to this, Pierre’s edition not only contained few mistakes (with reference to biblical citations), it was also far more thorough in citing its biblical sources than was the case with the NPNF and Parisot’s edition. 19 The following list of verses does not distinguish between literal quotations (short or lengthy) and simple allusions. Both are counted as equal for the purpose of establishing the broad spectrum of Aphrahat’s eschatology. Furthermore, M.-J. Pierre has noted that the distinguishing features between a biblical quotation and a biblical allusion in the Demonstrations is not always a simple matter to detect. See M.-J. Pierre, Les Exposés 349 (1988), 134-5. See also Stephen S. Taylor, ‘Paul and the Persian Sage: Some Observations on Aphrahat’s Use of the Pauline Corpus’, in Craig A. Evans and James A. Sanders (eds), The Function of Scripture in Early Jewish and Christian Tradition, Journal for the Study of the New Testament, Supplement Series 154 (Sheffield, 1998), 317.

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● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

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(12×), 7-8 (12×), 9 (11×), 10 (13×), 11 (11×), 12 (12×), 13 (8×), 14-20 (6×), 21 (7×), 22 (6×), 23 (7×), 24-30 (6×), 31 (2×), 32 (4×), 33-34 (3×), 35 (4×), 36 (5×), 37-39 (3×), 40 (4×), 41-46 (3×); 27:52 1Cor. 2:9 (2×), 15; 3:8 (2×); 6:3; 15:13-15, 29, 32-33, 35, 36-38, 40 (2×), 41-42, 43, 44 (3×), 51 (3×), 52, 53, 54, 55 Lk. 7:14; 8:17, 52; 9:59-60; 11:10; 12:2, 33; 14:11; 16:9; 19:12 (4×), 13, 14 (3×) 15 (4×) 16 (5×), 17 (5×), 18-21 (4×), 22-23 (5×), 24 (6×), 25-26 (5×), 27 (3×); 20:9, 35-36, 38; 21:33; 22:30; 23:43 Jn. 1:1, 14; 3:12, 13 (2×); 4:36; 5:25 (2×) 26-29; 11:11, 12, 43; 14:2; 17:12; 29:15 Gen. 1:14; 2:6, 7 (3×), 17 (2×); 5:5, 24; 49:3-4, 29-31; 50:24 Is. 8:18; 26:19 (2×); 40:15-17; 51:6; 55:10-11; 60:8; 62:6-7; 66:8, 24 Dt. 5:15; 32:21, 39 (3×); 33:6 (2×); 34:1-4, 5-6 Pss. 1:5; 3:6; 9:18 (2×); 16:10; 106:19-21; 119:99; 143:2 Rom. 5:12 (2×), 14 (2×); 7:5; 8:5, 9, 24; 10:19 1Thess. 4:13 (2×), 16, 17 (3×); 5:21-22 Dn. 2:40, 43, 44, 45; 7:10, 27 Mk. 3:40; 4:22; 5:41; 9:43, 48; 13:31 Ex. 3:6; 7:1; 13:19; 32:1 2Kgs. 2:11 (2×); 4:8-37; 13:20-21 Jb. 3:18-19; 14:12; 16:19-20; 34:10-11 2Cor. 5:4, 8 (2×), 10 Heb. 11:3, 5, 15-16, 40 Ez. 18:23, 32; 23:44-45; 33:11; 37:1-10 Mal. 2:7, 10 Gal. 3:28; 6:6 Nm. 16:32-33 Jo. 24:32 1Sm. 2:6 1Kgs. 17:17-24 Prv. 6:27-28 Jer. 22:19 Hos. 8:10 Jl. 2:28 Sir. 29:18 Col. 3:1-2 2Tim. 3:16

Due to variations and slight discrepancies between the Nicene and PostNicene Fathers, Parisot and Pierre’s editions, Valavanolickal’s study, and my interpretation of the texts, the abovementioned numbers do not offer an exact representation of the data available. However, they do embody a close and reliable statistical analysis that allows one to see the primary and secondary

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biblical texts Aphrahat used, particularly which passages he frequents most often. If the above-listed numbers are condensed and made more readable on a similar scale of frequency by biblical book, it would appear as follows: ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

Matt. 1Cor. Lk. Jn. Gen. Is. Dt. Pss. Rom. 1Thess. Dn. Mk. Ex. 2Kgs. Jb. 2Cor. Heb. Ez. Mal. Gal. Nm. Jo. 1Sm. 1Kgs. Prv. Jer. Hos. Jl. Sir. Col. 2Tim.

52× 24× 23× 14× 11× 10× 9× 8× 8× 7× 6× 5× 4× 4× 4× 4× 4× 3× 2× 2× 1× 1× 1× 1× 1× 1× 1× 1× 1× 1× 1×

If we consider the biblical books utilized ten times or more to develop his eschatology, Aphrahat’s primary biblical text is clearly Matt. (primarily chapter 25), which he cites 52 times. Curiously, his second most important text is 1Cor. (specifically chapter 15), which he uses 24 times.20 Perhaps less surprising is 20 S.S. Taylor and John H. Corbett have also noted that, within the Pauline corpus, 1Cor. is clearly Aphrahat’s favorite text. See S.S. Taylor, ‘Paul and the Persian Sage’ (1998), 318-21 and

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that two of the Gospels (Lk. and Jn.) are Aphrahat’s third and fourth favorite biblical texts, with 23 and 14 references, respectively. Gen. and Is. are his fifth and sixth most used books, the former being utilized 11 times and the latter 10 times. Overall, thirty-one biblical books are referenced (directly or indirectly), roughly sixty-one percent of which are Old Testament books. 3. Matthew 25 and 1Corinthians 15 in Aphrahat’s Eschatology With respect to eschatology, Aphrahat’s favorite text is Matt. 25, specifically the Parables of the Ten Virgins (vv. 1-13) and the Sheep and the Goats (vv. 31-46). While his usage of the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats, where Christ eternally segregates people into two groups – the righteous and the wicked – at the Final Judgement, is perhaps straightforward, Aphrahat’s handling of the Parable of the Ten Virgins requires some further clarification. The primary place he cites the Parable of the Ten Virgins is in Demonstration 6, sections 1, 6-7.21 The context of this Demonstration is an admonishment to the Covenanters, who were celibate groups functioning within the Syriac-speaking church in the fourth century.22 On ten occasions Aphrahat compares these Covenanters with the Ten Virgins and implores them to be like the wise Virgins, who were prepared when the Bridegroom’s coming was suddenly announced.23 Aphrahat understands the preparedness of these Covenanters to include (among other things) vigilance in prayer, abstinence from drunkenness, and unwavering commitment to vows of celibacy.24 If they remain focused and watchful, Aphrahat insists that these Covenanters will receive the reward of their labors, namely eschatological entrance into the bridal chamber with Christ, the Bridegroom.25 John H. Corbett, ‘The Pauline Tradition in Aphrahat’, in Han J.W. Drijvers, René Lavenant, Corrie Molenberg and Gerrit J. Reinink (eds), IV Symposium Syriacum, 1984: Literary Genres in Syriac Literature (Groningen – Oosterhesselen 10-12 September), Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229 (Roma, 1987), 13-32, 20. 21 Aphrahat also refers to this text three times in the context of Demonstration 9.4. See K.A. Valavanolickal, Gospel Parables (1996), 185-6. 22 In the early Syriac-speaking church, remaining celibate was praised to such a degree among certain communities (largely during the second and third centuries but becoming marginal by the fourth century) that it became a prerequisite for baptism. Those baptized in this manner were called bnay qyāmā (sons of the covenant)/bnāt qyāmā (daughters of the covenant), īhīdāyē (single ones), btūlē (virgins), and/or qaddīshē (holy ones). The precise meanings of these terms are disputed. See Sebastian Brock, ‘Early Syrian Asceticism’, Numen 20 (1973), 1-19, George Nedungatt, ‘The Covenanters of the Early Syriac-Speaking Church’, OCP 39 (1973), 191-215, 419-44, and Sidney Harrison Griffith, ‘Monks, “Singles”, and the “Sons of the Covenant”: Reflections on Syriac Ascetic Terminology’, in Ephrem Carr, Stefano Parenti, Abraham-Andreas Thiermeyer and Elena Velkovska (eds), ΕΥΛΟΓΗΜΑ: Studies in Honor of Robert Taft, S.J., Studia Anselmiana 110, Analecta Liturgica 17 (Roma, 1993), 141-60. 23 K.A. Valavanolickal, Gospel Parables (1996), 179-83. 24 Ibid. 179-80, 183. 25 See Matt. 25:10.

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While Aphrahat’s preference for 1Cor. 15 may seem striking at first glance, a closer examination of his usages of this particular text reveal that it functioned for him as a succinct summarization of the events that will immediately follow the Second Coming of Christ. For instance, in Demonstration 6.14, he compares the first birth of humanity, encapsulated in Adam, with the second birth of humanity, via baptism. The former group was given an animal-like soul at birth, whereas the latter received the Holy Spirit. At death, the animal spirit in a person is buried with him/her, but the Holy Spirit received at baptism returns to Christ. The Holy Spirit yearns to be joined to the human body it had once indwelt and so patiently awaits the resurrection of humanity, initiated by the sounding of the trumpet, when righteous humanity will be eternally swallowed by the immortality of the Holy Spirit. Or again, at the beginning of Demonstration 8,26 Aphrahat opens with the Pauline question posed in 1Cor. 15:35: ‘How will the dead ones rise, and with what body will they come?’ Aphrahat likely relies on 1Cor. 15 at this point, because there is no other concise section in the biblical canon that develops the specifics and implications of the resurrected body. Thus, perhaps not surprisingly, he cites 1Cor. 15 ten times in the first four sections, before moving on to dealing with the question of how something which had died can raise to life again. In order to fully explain this phenomenon, Aphrahat steps back and engages with the broader biblical text, beyond 1Cor. 15. 4. A Possible Motivation for Aphrahat’s Eschatology In considering the texts which Aphrahat has cited, it would also be useful to briefly consider the known eschatological texts available to him that, 1) he does not cite, 2) he only mentions in passing, and/or 3) he discusses but not in relation to eschatology. In particular, these texts include the so-called ‘Little Apocalypse’ (Matt. 24;27 Mk. 13; Lk. 21), the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Lk. 16:19-31),28 and 2Bar. For instance, Aphrahat makes a passing reference to Matt. 24:35, Mk. 13:31, and Lk. 21:33 in Demonstration 22:24: ‘Heaven and earth will not pass away’. However, he offers no further comment on the significance of these texts for the purposes of his eschatology. Unlike his allusion to the ‘Little Apocalypse’, Aphrahat makes no mention of 2Bar., which functioned as the rough equivalent of Rev. for the Syriac-speaking church 26 The NPNF incorrectly lists several of these initial citations as being 1Cor. 5. However, J. Parisot and M.-J. Pierre’s editions correctly list them as 1Cor. 15. 27 Aphrahat cites the parable of the Faithful and Wicked Servants (Matt. 24:45-51) four times, all of which largely focuses on contemporary corrupt clergy. See K.A. Valavanolickal, Gospel Parables (1996), 172-4. 28 Aphrahat cites this parable twelve times, the majority of which are clustered in Demonstration 20: ‘On the Support of the Poor’ and, thus, largely focus on the treatment of the poor. See K.A. Valavanolickal, Gospel Parables (1996), 288-96.

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for centuries prior to Aphrahat. This is quite striking, especially if we consider the breath of Scripture quoted and thus known by Aphrahat. What could have been Aphrahat’s motivating reasons for relying on certain eschatological texts while choosing to remain largely silent in the usage of other texts? Since Aphrahat’s eschatology is arguably multifaceted (as evidenced by the wide range of biblical texts used in the tables above), each Demonstration needs to be evaluated in its own context. Due to the fact that Aphrahat’s primary eschatological discussions are located in Demonstration 8 and 22 (as shown by Daley), these two Demonstrations will be the focus of the remainder of this article. Thomas D. McGlothlin’s study of Demonstration 8 has highlighted its overall polemical nature in discussing the resurrection of the dead.29 This study has also emphasized that Aphrahat made wide use of both Old and New Testament passages in constructing an argument for the resurrection of the body, a view which was likely pieced together in response to fourth-century understandings of Bardaisan of Edessa (154-222 AD) and Origen of Alexandria (184-253 AD), both of whom were believed to have denied a physical resurrection of the body.30 Since Bardaisan and Origen respected and used the Old Testament, it clarifies why Aphrahat also uses several Old Testament passages, such as Gen. 49-50, Dt. 34, 1Kgs. 17, 2Kgs. 4, and Ez. 37, to argue ‘against a position that accepts the authority of the Old Testament while denying the resurrection of the flesh, … [a position] that appeals to the dissolution of the human body after death [and] privileges a heavenly or spiritual body over an “earthly” body’.31 It further explains why Aphrahat uses these Old Testament texts as a springboard to discuss the supremacy of Christ’s miracles of raising the dead during his earthly ministry. For instance, whereas Elijah, Elisha, and Ezekiel prayed earnestly (e.g. at least two or more times) to raise a person from the dead, Christ spoke once, and the dead person arose.32 Moreover, Aphrahat ‘argues for a resurrection of the non-physical part of a person to reward or punishment immediately after death’,33 as hinted at by his usage of the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Matt. 25:31-46). Concerning Demonstration 22, no formal study has yet been conducted on it,34 and a full analysis of it is beyond the bounds of this article. Therefore, I will 29 Thomas D. McGlothlin, ‘Contextualizing Aphrhat’s Demonstration 8: Bardaisan, Origen, and the Fourth-Century Debate on the Resurrection of the Body’, Le Muséon 127 (2014), 311-39. 30 Ibid. 313-4. 31 Ibid. 329. 32 Mk. 5:41; Lk. 7:14; Jn. 11:43. See Demonstration 8:13-4. 33 T.D. McGlothlin, ‘Contextualizing Aphrahat’s Demonstration 8’ (2014), 329. 34 Marinus D. Koster offers a few insights into Aphrahat’s typological use of Demonstration 22. However, he limits his study to only the first two sections. See id., ‘Aphrahat’s Use of his Old Testament’, in Robert Bas ter Haar Romeny (ed.), The Peshitta: Its Use in Literature and Liturgy, Papers Read at the Third Peshitta Symposium, Monographs of the Peshitta Institute Leiden 15 (Leiden, Boston, 2006), 133-4.

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make a few observations regarding it and its biblical citations. It was written in 343-344, which was 4 to 5 years into Shapur II’s (309-379 AD) persecution of Christians in the Sasanian empire.35 Its central focus is a lengthy discussion of the reality of impending death (with the implied sense of martyrdom) and the divine glories that await the righteous beyond it. Aphrahat applies a typological approach to death, wherein the verses (or more commonly parts of verses)36 chosen function essentially as proof texts to establish his view of death as something defeated and thus transitory. There is no central set text(s) into which Aphrahat weaves other complementary biblical material, as, for example, had been his approach in Demonstration 5 concerning the book of Daniel and other similar biblical citations.37 This may explain why the majority of the texts cited one time (in the tables above) are used in Demonstration 22.38 Sometimes Aphrahat conflates multiple verses (such as his use of Rom. 5:12, 14 in Demonstration 22:1), while other times he preserves an early literal reading of the Peshitta (such as his use of Dt. 33:6 in Demonstration 22:2).39 Furthermore, somewhat interestingly, Aphrahat does not cite (even once!) his favorite passage on the Final Judgement,40 namely the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Matt. 25:31-46). Rather, he employs the Parable of the Talents (Matt. 25:14-30) on two separate occasions to emphasize the individuality of this Judgement: everyone, except the truly righteous and the truly wicked, will be judged on the basis of his/her own deeds.41 Aphrahat’s purpose in stressing the individualized nature of the Final Judgement is arguably to encourage the members of the Christian community in the Sasanian empire to remain faithful, even 35 Jacob Neusner, ‘Babylonian Jewry and Shapur II’s Persecution of Christianity from 339 to 379 A.D.’, HUCA 43 (1972), 77-9. For a detailed study of the circumstances that led to Shapur II’s persecution, see Marie-Louise Chaumont, La christianisation de l’empire iranien des origines aux grandes persécutions du IVe siècle, CSCO 499, Subs. 80 (Louvain, 1988). 36 Aphrahat takes a similar approach when using the Gospel citations: he typically prefers a specific aspect (rather than the whole) of a given verse. See Kuriakose Antony Valavanolickal, ‘The Exegesis of Aphrahat and Ephrem with Special Reference to the Gospel Parables’, The Harp 13 (2000), 99-108. 37 See David J. Lane, ‘Of Wars and Rumours of Peace: Apocalyptic Material in Aphrahat and Šubhalmaran’, in P.J. Harland and C.T. Robert Hayward (eds), New Heaven and New Earth: Prophecy and the Millennium. Essays in Honour of Anthony Gelston, Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 77 (Leiden, Boston, Köln, 1999), 239-40 and Craig E. Morrison, ‘The Reception of the Book of Daniel in Aphrahat’s Fifth Demonstration, “On Wars”’, Hugoye 7 (2004), 55-82. 38 These verses include the following: Nm. 16:32-33; 1Sm. 2:6; Jer. 22:19; Jl. 2:28; Sir. 29:18; Col. 3:1-2; 2Tim. 3:16. 39 M.D. Koster, ‘Aphrahat’s Use of his Old Testament’ (2006), 139. 40 This is largely the focus of Demonstration 22:15-24. 41 Though not cited in any of the editions I used, the concept of the truly righteous and the truly wicked not facing the Final Judgement may have it roots (at least in part) in Psalm 1:5. A similar exegetical approach can be found in the Syrian Orthodox writer, Daniel of Ṣalaḥ’s (fl. mid-sixth century) commentary on Psalm 1. His full Commentary on the Psalms is currently being edited by David G.K. Taylor.

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in the face of persecution and/or martyrdom, so that they may each inherit the kingdom of heaven, where persecution will cease and death will be slain.42 5. Conclusion In constructing his eschatology, Aphrahat heavily relied on Old Testament imagery, while noticeably favoring select New Testament books. His eschatological framework is built on thirty-one biblical books, encompassing two hundred and eighteen references, the majority of which derive from Matt., 1Cor., Lk., Jn., Gen., and Is. Aphrahat appears to have carefully selected his eschatological texts, displaying a keen ability to purposely chose one text over another. Certainly, he has other sources, such as fourth-century understandings of Bardaisan and Origen,43 Greek and Semitic views of the sleep of the soul, and possibly the Odes of Solomon,44 the collective study of which is beyond the bounds of this paper. However, until these further studies are conducted and collated, the nuances of Aphrahat’s biblical eschatology cannot be fully appreciated, and as the Bard expressed, ‘aye, there’s the rub’.45

42

See Demonstration 22:4, 15. T.D. McGlothlin, ‘Contextualizing Aphrahat’s Demonstration 8’ (2014), 311-39. 44 See, for instance, Murray, Symbols (2004), 143 and Susan Ashbrook Harvey, ‘Feminine Imagery for the Divine: The Holy Spirit, the Odes of Solomon, and Early Syriac Tradition’, SVTQ 37 (1993), 111-39. 45 Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act III, Scene I. 43

The Earliest Syriac Homiliaries: Authorship and Anonymity Philip Michael FORNESS, Goethe-Universität Frankfurt am Main, Germany

ABSTRACT Sermons, one of the best-preserved genres of early Christian literature, circulated widely in late antiquity within biblical commentaries, catenae, and conciliar acts. But in the Middle Ages, homiliaries – sermon collections ordered according to the liturgical year – became the dominant medium for their transmission. The earliest examples come from North Africa and Gaul in the fifth or sixth century. Fully fledged homiliaries are not attested in the Greek- or Syriac-speaking East until the eighth century. This article examines three sixth- or seventh-century Syriac manuscripts which form the earliest known efforts to organize Syriac sermons around the liturgical year. Two manuscripts (British Library, Add. 14587; Vatican Library, Sir. 109) feature homilies by the Syriac preacher Jacob of Serugh related to six major feast days. A third manuscript (British Library, Add. 17181) contains short addresses for the abbot of a monastery to speak at various occasions and anonymous sets of homilies that follow the order of liturgical feasts. These manuscripts reveal competing tendencies. The anonymity of the homilies in British Library, Add. 17181 emphasizes the practical reasons for the organization of homilies. The other two manuscripts, by way of contrast, take care to name the author and reveal the importance assigned to preserving the works of prominent figures. This article argues that these three manuscripts demonstrate that Syriac literary communities engaged in practices of collecting sermons that reflect broader trends in the organization of knowledge as evidenced by other homiliaries.

Introduction* Christian preaching survives in great quantities from the fourth through sixth centuries.1 Individuals and communities selected homilies and organized them for distribution in different types of collections. Patterns in the transmission of * The following abbreviations are used: CChr.SL = Corpus Christianorum Series Latina; CPG = Clavis Patrum Graecorum; CPL = Clavis Patrum Latinorum; CSCO = Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium; Iber. = Scriptores Iberici; PL = Patrologia Latina; PO = Patrologia Orientalis; SC = Sources Chrétiennes; Syr. = Scriptores Syri. 1 The most extensive studies on early Christian homilies remain Joseph Bingham, Origines ecclesiasticae; or the Antiquities of the Christian Church (London, 1850 [1718-22]), see chapter 14.4; Alexandre Olivar, La predicación cristiana antigua, Biblioteca Herder 189 (Barcelona, 1991). I have summarized my own views in Preaching Christology in the Roman Near East: A Study of Jacob of Serugh, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2018), 22-55.

Studia Patristica CXXV, 123-139. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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sermons offer insight into how late antique Christians chose to order the knowledge preserved in homilies and why specific homilies survive. A variety of different types of sermon collections developed by the end of the fourth century centered around authorship, the biblical text, and catechesis. One type of collection first surfaces in the fifth century: gatherings of homilies organized according to the liturgical calendar, known as homiliaries.2 Latin homiliaries are well attested from the fifth century onwards, but the evidence in Greek and Syriac before the eighth century remains more limited. This essay seeks to draw three Syriac manuscripts from the sixth and seventh centuries into the general history of homiliaries: London, British Library, Add. 14587 and 17181, and Rome, Vatican Library, Sir. 109.3 These manuscripts reveal two competing tendencies. Two contain the same set of sermons by a single author and thereby demonstrate an emphasis on authorship as an organizing principle. The third includes an entirely anonymous set of addresses, hymns, and sermons for use in a monastic setting. Latin homiliaries from the fifth and sixth centuries show parallel developments and help contextualize the Syriac sermon collections preserved in these codices. I will argue that these three manuscripts demonstrate that Syriac literary communities engaged in practices of collecting sermons that reflect broader trends in the organization of knowledge as evidenced by other homiliaries. 1. A Brief History of Homiliaries The survival of early Christian sermons reflects deliberate efforts of preservation. This section summarizes several different organizing principles found 2 The term ‘homiliary’ can be used to refer to any collection of homilies or sermons. I have chosen the narrower definition of sermon collections ordered according to the liturgical year for convenience. François Dolbeau distinguishes between sermonnaires d’auteur and homéliaires to highlight the difference between single- and multi-author collections. I am not aware of any equivalent language for this distinction in English and therefore have applied the term homiliary to both types of collections. On this distinction, see recently François Dolbeau, ‘La transmission de la prédication antique de langue latine’, in Anthony Dupont, Shari Boodts, Gert Partoens and Johan Leemans (eds), Preaching in the Patristic Era: Sermons, Preachers, and Audiences in the Latin West, A New History of the Sermon 6 (Leiden, 2018), 38, 45. 3 The importance of Syriac manuscripts for the history of homiliaries has been known for quite some time. A review of a voluminous survey of the development of Greek hagiographical and homiletical collections cited the lack of Syriac manuscripts as a serious deficit: Ch. Martin, ‘Aux sources de l’hagiographie et de l’homilétique byzantines’, Byzantion 12 (1937), 355-9. This review discusses Albert Ehrhard, Überlieferung und Bestand der hagiographischen und homiletischen Literatur der griechischen Kirche von den Anfängen bis zum Ende des 16. Jahrhunderts, 3 vol., Texte und Untersuchungen 50-2 (Leipzig, 1937-1952). Numerous studies of Syriac homiliaries by Joseph-Marie Sauget followed, and some of these works are cited below. The three manuscripts explored in this paper have not been incorporated into the history of the homiliary in any work known to me.

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in gatherings of sermons and then focuses on the emergence of homily collections ordered according to the liturgical calendar, that is, homiliaries. This overview serves as a backdrop for the following two sections that focus on the three Syriac manuscripts from the sixth and seventh centuries. The earliest known sermon collections were organized as commentaries on the biblical text. Sets of Origen of Alexandria’s (184/5-253/5) homilies from the third century attest to the use of preached sermons as commentaries.4 Jerome (ca. 347-419) and Rufinus of Aquileia (ca. 345-ca. 410) translated some of Origen’s commentaries derived from his preaching into Latin.5 Around the same time, a great number of John Chrysostom’s (ca. 350-407) sermons, coming from various points in his career, were organized as commentaries on the biblical text.6 Such collections must have been formed by the year 419 or 420, as a Latin translation of the commentary on Matthew from this time survives.7 Augustine of Hippo’s (354-430) commentaries on the Psalms, the Gospel of John, and the First Epistle of John derive either in part or entirely from his preaching.8 Several manuscripts that date to the sixth and seventh centuries similarly preserve collections of the homilies of the Syriac author Jacob of 4 In many cases, it has proven difficult to distinguish between the commentaries written as such and those gathered from Origen’s sermons. See Éric Junod, ‘En quoi les homélies d’Origène se distinquent-elles de ses commentaires’, in Gerd Theissen, Henry Mottu and Pierre-André Bettex (eds), Le défi homilétique: L’exégèse au service de la prédication: Actes du 3e cycle de théologie pratique des Facultés de théologie de Suisse romande 1993 (Geneva, 1994), 137-70; Francesco Pieri, ‘Origen on 1 Corinthians: Homilies or Commentary?’, SP 65 (2013), 143-56. 5 For a summary and further bibliography, see Sever J. Voicu, ‘Latin Translations of Greek Homilies’, in Anthony Dupont, Shari Boodts, Gert Partoens and Johan Leemans (eds), Preaching in the Patristic Era: Sermons, Preachers, and Audiences in the Latin West, A New History of the Sermon 6 (Leiden, 2018), 296-7. 6 On the origins of the collections of Chrysostom’s preaching, see Pauline Allen and Wendy Mayer, ‘Chrysostom and the Preaching of Homilies in Series: A New Approach to the Twelve Homilies In epistulam ad Colossenses (CPG 4433)’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 60 (1994), 21-39; Pauline Allen and Wendy Mayer, ‘Chrysostom and the Preaching of Homilies in Series: A Re-examination of the Fifteen Homilies In epistulam ad Philippenses (CPG 4432)’, Vigiliae Christianae 49 (1995), 270-89; Pauline Allen and Wendy Mayer, ‘The Thirty-Four Homilies on Hebrews: The Last Series Delivered by Chrysostom in Constantinople?’, Byzantion 65 (1995), 309-48; Wendy Mayer, The Homilies of St John Chrysostom – Provenance: Reshaping the Foundations, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 273 (Rome, 2005). 7 Anianus of Celeda (5th century) translated at least the first twenty-five of John Chrysostom’s Homilies on Matthew and probably the entire collection of ninety homilies in 419 or 420 (Flavio G. Nuvolone, ‘Annianus de Cele(n)da’, in Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique: Doctrine et histoire, vol. 12, no. 2 [Paris, 1986], 2909). 8 Most of the Expositions on the Psalms were preached before an audience, but some were dictated for the commentary, as noted in Possidius of Caesarea, Indiculus 10.4 (Germain Morin [ed.], Miscellanea agostiniana, vol. 2, Studi Agostiniani [Rome, 1931], 181-2). Augustine states the same about the Homilies on the Gospel of John in a letter to Possidius: Letter 23A*.3 (Johannes Divjak [ed.], Lettres 1*-29*, Bibliothèque Augustinienne 46B [Paris, 1987], 123). The prologue to the Homilies on the First Epistle of John describes how Augustine chose this text for sequential preaching (PL 35, 1977).

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Serugh (d. 520/521) organized as commentaries on the entire Old or New Testament.9 The creators of these sermon collections included and excluded works based on their relevance for biblical interpretation. Various other organizing principles are observable in homily collections of individual authors. For example, Basil of Caesarea (ca. 330-378) may have participated in forming a collection of his own sermons that includes three separate sections of homilies on diverse topics bookended by sermons on the Psalms.10 Shenoute of Atripe (ca. 348-465) seems to have arranged many of his own writings into nine volumes based on chronological order, known as Canons.11 The seventh Canon, unlike the others, incorporates sermons that pertain to the building of a church and the coming of refugees into Shenoute’s monastery.12 Finally, several sets of catechetical homilies organized according to the presentation of doctrine and derived from individual authors survive: Cyril of Jerusalem (ca. 315-387),13 John Chrysostom,14 Theodore of Mopsuestia (ca. 350-428),15 Quodvultdeus (d. ca. 454),16 among others. All these sermon collections exhibit diverse criteria for inclusion or exclusion. Yet, as earlier biblical commentaries

9 On two of these, see Frédéric Rilliet, ‘Deux homéliaires Sarouguiens du VIe siècle à la Bibliothèque vaticane’, in Miscellanea Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae X, Studi e Testi 416 (Vatican City, 2003), 293-337. 10 Édouard Rouillard, ‘L’édition des Homélies morales de Basil de Césarée’, SP 18.2 (1989), 75-8; Paul Jonathan Fedwick, Bibliotheca Basiliana Universalis: A Study of the Manuscript Tradition of the Works of Basil of Caesarea (Turnhout, 1993-2004), 2.1:3-5; Mark DelCogliano (trans.), St. Basil the Great: On Christian Doctrine and Practice, Popular Patristics 47 (Yonkers, NY, 2012), 21-5. On Basil’s involvement in organizing the collection, see Édouard Rouillard, ‘Basile de Césarée a-t-il corrigé lui-même un premier état de texte de ses homélies?’, SP 22 (1989), 65-8. I am grateful to Mark DelCogliano for discussing the order of Basil’s homilies with me and pointing me to several of these studies. 11 On Shenoute’s involvement in organizing the Canons, see Stephen Emmel, Shenoute’s Literary Corpus, CSCO 599-600, Subsidia 111-2 (Leuven, 2004), II 553-8. 12 S. Emmel, Shenoute’s Literary Corpus (2004), II 582-93. While Emmel defined eight separate works in this Canon, the critical edition will feature seventeen according to Elizabeth F. Davidson, ‘Those Who Listen: Shenoute’s Sermons at the White Monastery’ (Ph.D., Yale University, 2014), 40. Davidson’s dissertation develops criteria for whether works by Shenoute should be considered sermons. She takes a conservative approach to those contained in Canon 7 and only classifies three works as sermons (E.F. Davidson, ‘Those Who Listen’ [2014], 40-2, 81, 91-2). 13 CPG 3585-6. 14 Three series of catechetical sermons attributed to Chrysostom seem to be authentic: CPG 4460-3, 4464, 4465-72. On the relationship between them, see Antoine Wenger (ed. and trans.), Jean Chrysostome: Huit catéchèses baptismales inédites, 2nd rev. ed., SC 50bis (Paris, 1970), 22-65. 15 CPG 3852. 16 CPL 401-3. These homilies were preached in different years but within the same context, on the Sunday before Easter: Thomas M. Finn (trans.), Quodvultdeus of Carthage: The Creedal Homilies, Ancient Christian Writers 60 (New York, 2004), 3-4. But they circulated as a set under the pseudonym of Augustine: René Braun (ed.), Opera Quodvultdeo Carthaginiensi episcopo tributa, CChr.SL 60 (Turnhout, 1976), lxxxii.

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derived from preaching, they all gather the homilies of an individual author as a collection. Liturgically ordered homiliaries seem to have first taken the form of singleauthor collections.17 The earliest evidence comes from the archive of Augustine of Hippo.18 A fifteenth-century manuscript now held in Mainz (Stadtbibliothek, I 9) contains two collections of Augustine’s Sermones ad populum. Around thirty of the sermons are organized according to the liturgical year from the Ascension to the end of August. The order of these sermons exhibits parallels with the list of sermons compiled by Possidius (ca. 370–after 437) shortly after Augustine’s death in the fifth century apparently based on the library at Hippo.19 Another fifth-century gathering of Augustine’s sermons, known as the Collectio campana, also an African collection, comprises forty-three sermons that likewise reflect the liturgical calendar.20 Augustine had his sermons stored in an archive, and a section of the sermons stored there was arranged according to the liturgical calendar. A similar practice can be observed for other figures. For example, the earliest collection of Pope Leo I’s (r. 440-461) sermons circulated shortly after 445 and featured his sermons on select liturgical feasts.21 The archives of these ecclesiastical leaders became literary archives to be used on liturgical occasions in the future. 17 For a more detailed treatment of the materials discussed in this and the following paragraphs, see François Dolbeau, ‘Naissance des homéliaires et des passionnaires: Une tentative d’étude comparative’, in Stéphane Gioanni and Benoît Grévin (eds), L’antiquité tardive dans les collections médiévales: Textes et représentations, VIe-XIVe siécle, Collection de l’École française de Rome 405 (Rome, 2008), 19-24; F. Dolbeau, ‘La transmission’ (2018), 38-47. 18 On the early circulation of Augustine’s sermons, see Gert Partoens, Shari Boodts and Alicia Eelen, ‘Sermones’, in Karla Pollmann and Willemien Otten (eds), The Oxford Guide to the Historical Reception of Augustine, vol. 1 (Oxford, 2013), 474-5. 19 Cyrille Lambot, ‘Le catalogue de Possidius et la collection carthusienne de sermons de Saint Augustin’, Revue bénédictine 60 (1950), 3-7; François Dolbeau, ‘Le sermonnaire augustinien de Mayence (Mainz, Stadtbibliothek I 9): Analyse et histoire’, Revue bénédictine 106 (1996), 46-51 (This essay is reprinted in François Dolbeau, Augustin et la prédication en Afrique: Recherches sur divers sermons authentiques, apocryphes ou anonymes, Collection des Études Augustiniennes, Série Antiquité 179 [Paris, 2005]; for the reference, see pages 64-9). On the collection and its sermons, see Gerhard May and Geesche Hönscheid, Die Mainzer Augustinus-Predigten: Studien zu einem Jahrhundertfund, Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für europäische Geschichte Mainz, Abteilung für Universalgeschichte 59 (Mainz, 2003). For the suggestion that this organization may date back to Augustine himself, see F. Dolbeau, ‘La transmission’ (2018), 40. 20 Pierre-Patrick Verbraken, Études critiques sur les sermons authentiques de Saint Augustin, Instrumenta patristica 12 (Steenbrugge, 1976), 209-10; Gert Partoens, ‘La Collection de sermons augustiniens De verbis Apostoli: Introduction et liste des manuscrits les plus anciens’, Revue bénédictine 111 (2001), 329-38. 21 Bronwen Neil, ‘Leo Magnus’, in Anthony Dupont, Shari Boodts, Gert Partoens and Johan Leemans (eds), Preaching in the Patristic Era: Sermons, Preachers, and Audiences in the Latin West, A New History of the Sermon 6 (Leiden, 2018), 327-8. On the ancient collections of Leo’s sermons, see Antoine Chavasse (ed.), Sancti Leonis Magni romani pontificis tractatus septem et nonaginta, CChr.SL 138-138A (Turnhout, 1973), CChr.SL 138, clxxvii-cci.

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The creation of multi-author sermon collections organized for liturgical needs marks a second stage in the development of homiliaries. Collections of model sermons emerged in the fifth and sixth centuries, and some drew on the works of multiple authors. One such collection, the Eusebius Gallicanus homiliary, is ordered liturgically and comprised of sermons found in archives in Gaul in the mid-fifth century that were edited into their present form in the early sixth century.22 The name Eusebius recurs in the preface and sometimes in the titles to individual sermons. But the sermons have a diverse authorship, even if the authors are rarely indicated.23 Lisa Bailey has therefore called the homiliary an ‘anonymous collection, designed as a preaching handbook’.24 Other homiliaries of this sort survive, including the Pseudo-Fulgentius collection, which took shape in North Africa and features a series of twelve model prefaces before the first homily.25 Such gatherings of model sermons form the first known examples of multi-author sermon collections ordered according to liturgical needs. The emergence of multi-author homiliaries that identify their authors and cover the entire church calendar represents a third stage. Such collections may have emerged as early as the sixth century, as François Dolbeau writes: ‘… the conditions indispensable for their creation were all present from the second half of the sixth century: the increase in the textual capacity of a codex, the practice of combining authors, the allocation of liturgical pericopes, the reading of patristic homilies in community’.26 Yet no manuscript from the 22 CPL 966. On the collection, see Lisa Kaaren Bailey, Christianity’s Quiet Success: The Eusebius Gallicanus Sermon Collection and the Power of the Church in Late Antique Gaul (Notre Dame, IN, 2010); Lisa Kaaren Bailey, ‘Preaching in Fifth-Century Gaul: Valerian of Cimiez and the Eusebius Gallicanus Collection’, in Anthony Dupont, Shari Boodts, Gert Partoens and Johan Leemans (eds), Preaching in the Patristic Era: Sermons, Preachers, and Audiences in the Latin West, A New History of the Sermon 6 (Leiden, 2018), 262-9. 23 On the attribution of the collection, see Franz Glorie (ed.), Eusebius ‘Gallicanus’: Collectio homiliarum, Sermones extravagantes, CChr.SL 101-101B (Turnhout, 1970-1), CChr.SL 101, xx; L.K. Bailey, Christianity’s Quiet Success (2010), 30-5. 24 L.K. Bailey, Christianity’s Quiet Success (2010), 29. 25 CPL 844. I am grateful to Clemens Weidmann who brought this to my attention in a lecture delivered in Frankfurt am Main in June 2018. He has not yet, to my knowledge, published on this aspect of the collection. Although the prefaces are printed in PL 65, 855-8, the divisions between individual prefaces are not distinguished. They are clearly noted and numbered in an accessible manuscript witness to this collection: Saint-Mihiel, Bibliothèque bénédictine, Z 20, fol. 2r-4r, which is available online beginning here: http://archives.meuse.fr/ark:/52669/a011418741123HHmt5A/ 50c7de2144. On this manuscript and the collection, see G. Morin, ‘Notes sur un manuscrit des homélies du Pseudo-Fulgence’, Revue Bénédictine 26 (1909), 223-8. For a recent study on four sermons from the collection, see Roberto Spataro, ‘The Pseudo-Fulgentius Homilies on Easter: Theology, Rhetoric, Church Life’, in Gert Partoens, Anthony Dupont and Shari Boodts (eds), Praedicatio Patrum: Studies on Preaching in Late Antique North Africa, Instrumenta Patristica et Mediaevalia 75 (Turnhout, 2017), 415-27. 26 F. Dolbeau, ‘La transmission’ (2018), 45: ‘… les conditions indispensables à leur naissance: augmentation de la capacité textuelle d’un codex, pratique de mélanger les auteurs, fixation des

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sixth century survives that orders sermons according to the liturgical calendar and identifies the diverse authors. The homiliary of Saint Peter from Rome forms the earliest known homiliary of this sort. It can be reconstructed on the basis of four later homiliaries and seems to go back in its original form to the mid-seventh century.27 Such homiliaries cover the enter liturgical year, following a sequence of Sundays, and often contain a section at the end for movable feasts. Multi-author Greek homiliaries may have emerged earlier or around the same time. Although no manuscript evidence survives until the eighth century,28 Georgian liturgical manuscripts often represent translations of much earlier Greek materials, as known from lectionaries and hymnals,29 and the same is also the case for homiliaries. For example, a Georgian homiliary, known as the Klarjet‘i mravalt‘avi, appears in a manuscript from the tenth century.30 But, as the editor of the collection argues, the translations of the homilies date as early as the fifth century and the Georgian collection likely goes back to the reign of Vaxtang I Gorgasali (r. 447-522).31 The earliest examples of multi-author homiliaries in Syriac appear in the eighth and ninth centuries.32 They consist primarily of translations of Greek authors, although a few Syriac authors are péricopes liturgiques, lecture en communauté d’homélies patristiques, étaient réunies dès la seconde moitié du 6e siècle’. 27 Antoine Chavasse, ‘Le Sermonnaire Vatican du VIIe siècle’, Sacris Erudiri 23 (1978-9), 225-89; Réginald Grégoire, Homéliaires liturgiques médiévaux: Analyse de manuscrits, Biblioteca de ‘Studi Medievali’ 12 (Spoleto, 1980), 127-88, 189-244, 343-92, 479-86; J.-P. Bouhot, ‘L’Homéliaire de Saint-Pierre du Vatican au milieu du VIIe siècle et sa postérité’, Recherches Augustiniennes 20 (1985), 87-115; Aimé Georges Martimort, Les lectures liturgiques et leurs livres (Turnhout, 1992), 83-6; F. Dolbeau, ‘La transmission’ (2018), 45. 28 A palimpsest forms the earliest known evidence in Greek: Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, Gr. 443 (lower text). See Jacques Noret, ‘Le palimpseste Parisinus gr. 443’, Analecta Bollandiana 88/1 (1970), 141-52. See also A. Ehrhard, Überlieferung (1937-1952), 1:92-8. 29 See Michel Tarchnischvili (ed. and trans.), Le grand lectionnaire de l’Église de Jérusalem, Ve-VIIIe siècle, CSCO 188-9, 204-5, Iber. 9-10, 13-4 (Leuven, 1959-60); Charles Renoux (ed. and trans.), L’hymnaire de Saint-Sabas (Ve-VIIIe siècle): Le manuscrit géorgien H 2123, PO 50.3 (224), 53.3 (237) (Turnhout, 2008-17). 30 I have based my comments here on the English summary of the Georgian edition of this homiliary: Tamila Mgaloblišvili, Klarjuli Mravalt‛avi, Żveli K‛art‛uli Mcerlobis Żeglebi 12 (Tbilisi, 1991), 466-90 (468 on the date of the manuscript). I am grateful to Stephen Rapp for helping me access this work. On this and other early Georgian homiliaries, see Michel van Esbroeck, Les plus anciens homéliaires géorgiens: Étude descriptive et historique, Publications de l’Institut orientaliste de Louvain 10 (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1975) (on the Klarjet‘i mravalt‘avi, see 37-49). 31 T. Mgaloblišvili, Klarjuli Mravalt‛avi (1991), 478, 486-7. On the disputed dates of Vaxtang’s reign, see Stephen H. Rapp Jr., The Sasanian World through Georgian Eyes: Caucasia and the Iranian Commonwealth in Late Antique Georgian Literature (Farnham, 2014), 271. 32 See Joseph-Marie Sauget, ‘L’homéliaire du Vatican Syriaque 253: Essai de reconstitution’, Le Muséon 81 (1968), 297-349; Joseph-Marie Sauget, ‘Deux homéliaires Syriaques de la Bibliothèque vaticane’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 27 (1961), 389-95, 402-3 (Rome, Vatican Library, Sir. 368); 395-400, 413-24 (Rome, Vatican Library, Sir. 369).

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also represented. This strongly suggests that Syriac multi-author homiliaries were based upon existing Greek homiliaries. The development of collections of sermons ordered according to the liturgical calendar marked a major shift in the transmission of early Christian homilies. Homiliaries became literary archives for the works of individual authors or multiple authors and were designed with present and future liturgical needs in mind. Syriac homiliaries that reflect the third stage – the multi-author homiliary that identifies its authors – have received some attention in the past. This essay focuses on Syriac homiliaries that reflect the two earlier and less well-explored stages – single-author and anonymous multi-author homiliaries – by analyzing three sixth- and seventh-century Syriac manuscripts. 2. A Single-Author Collection Two Syriac manuscripts that date to the seventh century preserve the same set of six prose homilies organized according to major feast days: London, British Library, Add. 14587, and Rome, Vatican Library, Sir. 109. All six homilies come from the pen of the Syriac author and bishop Jacob of Serugh.33 I will argue here that this collection emerged from an archive that contained Jacob’s writings and, in this way, resembles single-author homiliaries known from the fifth century and later in Latin. This section first summarizes Jacob’s biography and the two manuscripts that transmit this set of six homilies, before analyzing two aspects of their transmission: (1) the formation of the set of homilies and (2) the composition of the letter collection that circulates alongside the sermons in one manuscript. Jacob’s biography suggests that he would have been able to maintain an archive that preserved his works. Born in the middle of the fifth century, he studied at the school of Edessa and became part of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. He was serving in the role of periodeutes – similar to a rural bishop – by the early sixth century.34 In the year 518 or 519, he became bishop of the city of Batnae of Serugh, some forty kilometers west of Edessa and some forty 33 These homilies have been edited and translated in Frédéric Rilliet (ed. and trans.), Jacques de Saroug: Six homélies festales en prose, PO 43.4 (196) (Turnhout, 1986). An earlier translation and edition were published based on fewer manuscripts: Pius Zingerle (trans.), Sechs Homilien des heiligen Jacob von Sarug (Bonn, 1867); Sebastian P. Brock (ed.), Štā turgāmē d-qaddišā mār[y] ya῾qob da-sruḡ mallp̄ānā (Holland, 1984). Rilliet also wrote his doctoral dissertation on this collection, which included a commentary not found in his later edition: Frédéric Rilliet, ‘Jacques de Saroug, prédicateur: Commentaire aux six homélies festales en prose’ (Th.D., Université de Genève, 1990). 34 For an account of Jacob’s life based on his works and contemporaneous sources, see Philip Michael Forness, Preaching Christology in the Roman Near East: A Study of Jacob of Serugh, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2018), 4-9.

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kilometers east of the Euphrates River. He died either in 520 or 521.35 Archives in Syriac-speaking regions are attested from an early date,36 and Jacob’s contemporary and fellow bishop Philoxenus of Mabbug (ca. 445-523) seems to have supervised the production of manuscripts.37 As a bishop, Jacob would have had access to personnel to allow him to maintain an archive of his writings.38 The earlier of the two manuscripts to preserve the set of six prose homilies – London, British Library, Add. 14587 – dates to 603 based on a colophon.39 The manuscript originally contained nineteen quires and around 190 folios. The colophon and the 137 surviving folios offer an accurate portrayal of the original collection. The final colophon reads: ‘Finished is the writing in this volume of forty-one letters and six homilies [turgāmē] which were composed by blessed Mar Jacob, the bishop of Batnae.’40 The letter collection occupied the entire first fourteen quires and the first folio of the fifteenth quire in the original manuscript; the six prose homilies take up the final four quires.41 The colophon establishes the authorship of both corpora as the link between them.

35 On the dates of Jacob’s episcopacy and death, see for now Ernst Honigmann, Évêques et évêchés monophysites d’Asie antérieure au VIe siècle, CSCO 127, Subsidia 2 (Leuven, 1951), 52-3; Sebastian P. Brock, ‘Ya῾qub of Serugh’, in Sebastian P. Brock, Aaron Michael Butts, George Anton Kiraz and Lucas Van Rompay (eds), Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage (Piscataway, NJ, 2011), 433-5; P.M. Forness, Preaching Christology (2018), 7-8. Andy Hilkens is preparing a study on the hagiographical and historiographical accounts of Jacob’s life that will demonstrate that 520 is the most likely date for his death as preserved in these sources. 36 Muriel Debié, ‘Record Keeping and Chronicle Writing in Antioch and Edessa’, Aram 11-2 (1999-2000), 409-17; Muriel Debié, L’écriture de l’histoire en syriaque: Transmissions interculturelles et constructions identitaires entre hellénisme et islam, Late Antique History and Religion 12 (Leuven, 2015), 166-73, 358-67; Alberto Camplani, ‘Setting a Bishopric / Arranging an Archive: Traces of Archival Activity in the Bishopric of Alexandria and Antioch’, in Alessandro Bausi, Christian Brockmann, Michael Friedrich and Sabine Kienitz (eds), Manuscripts and Archives: Comparative Views on Record-Keeping, Studies in Manuscript Cultures 11 (Berlin, 2018), 236-40. 37 André de Halleux, Philoxène de Mabbog: Sa vie, ses écrits, sa théologie (Leuven, 1963), 42-3, 110, 145; David Allen Michelson, ‘A Bibliographic Clavis to the Works of Philoxenos of Mabbug’, Hugoye 13 (2010), 115-8. 38 On the episcopacy and archives, see Karl Groß, ‘Archiv’, in Theodor Klauser (ed.), Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, vol. 1 (Stuttgart, 1950), 622-3; A. Camplani, ‘Setting a Bishopric’ (2018). 39 On this manuscript, see William Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum Acquired since the Year 1838 (London, 1870-2), II 517-24 (no. 672). A further codicological description, with necessary corrections to Wright’s description, appears in Gunnar Olinder, The Letters of Jacob of Sarug: Comments on an Edition, Lunds Universitets Årsskrift, n.f., avd. 1, 34.1 (Lund, 1939), 9-13. 40 London, British Library, Add. 14587, fol. 135v: .ÀĀýs¿ćäÅă{{ÁËÐ{èÚðÂăsÀĄÅsÁxzÀĀÚúçóÂuĀÞäàåáý .èçÔÂx¿óúêòsuÎúðÙ€üã¿çÂÎÔàèÚäÚéx 41 See the reconstruction in G. Olinder, Comments (1939), 12.

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The second Syriac manuscript under consideration – Rome, Vatican Library, Sir. 109 – preserves the same set of prose homilies in a multi-author manuscript.42 The manuscript now consists of sixty-six folios and dates before 692 and perhaps as early as the sixth century.43 Although some folios are lacking at the beginning of the codex, all of the original works seem to be extant, at least in part, based on the colophon. The collection consists of the following works: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

A fragment of the Asceticon of Isaiah of Scetis (early 5th century);44 Nine works by John Chrysostom on various topics;45 Six prose homilies by Jacob of Serugh; A homily by John Chrysostom on Psalm 38 (39);46 and Jacob of Serugh’s letter to Jacob, abbot of the monastery of Naphshatha.47

Although connections between individual works can be established, the collection as a whole has no obvious thematic unity.48 The colophon gives the impression that the creators of this codex organized it according to authorship: ‘Finished is the writing in this volume of the teaching of Abba Isaiah; the reproaches and admonition of Mar John, the bishop of Constantinople; and the homilies [turgāmē] which were spoken by Mar Jacob, the teacher, and a letter 42 For descriptions of the manuscript, see Stephen Evodius Assemani and Joseph Simonius Assemani, Bibliothecae apostolicae vaticanae codicum manuscriptorum catalogus (Rome, 1758-9), 3:71-6; René Draguet (ed. and trans.), Les cinq recensions de l’Ascéticon syriaque d’Abba Isaïe, CSCO 289-90, 293-4, Syr. 120-1, 123-4 (Leuven, 1968), CSCO 289, Syr. 120, 16*. 43 The date 692 appears in the manuscript, but it remains unclear whether this refers to the date of composition or the date at which the note was written. R. Draguet, Les cinq recensions (1968), CSCO 289, Syr. 120, 16*, suggests that it may go back to the sixth century. 44 On the contents, see R. Draguet, Les cinq recension (1968), CSCO 289, Syr. 120, 16*. S.E. Assemani and J.S. Assemani, Catalogus (1758-9), III 73, state that the phrase ‘of the same saint’ (¿þÙËùxÍáÙxËÝÍáÙx) that accompanies the title to the second work in the extant collection – a homily by John Chrysostom – indicates that other works by Chrysostom must have originally appeared earlier in the collection and are now wanting. I interpret this title differently and assume that this is simply a means of avoiding repeating Chrysostom’s name twice within the same title. R. Draguet, Les cinq recensions (1968), CSCO 289, Syr. 120, 16*, likewise assumes that the beginning of the manuscript contained parts of Isaiah of Scetis’s Asceticon. 45 I have identified the corresponding Greek works for all but two of these works: Three Homilies on the Prodigal Son (CPG 4577); On the Turtledove (CPG 4547), On Psalm 41 (42) (CPG 4413.2), On Wealth and Poverty (?), On Obedience to Parents (?); an excerpt from Homily 60 on the Gospel of John (CPG 4425); and an excerpt from the First Exhortation to Stagirius (CPG 4310). 46 CPG 4543. 47 Jacob of Serugh, Letter 22 (Gunnar Olinder [ed.], Iacobi Sarugensis epistulae quotquot supersunt, CSCO 110, Syr. 57 [Leuven, 1937], 143-68). 48 Joseph-Marie Sauget, ‘Le traitement subi par l’homélie pseudo-chrysostomienne sur le fils prodigue dans la traduction syriaque’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 51 (1985), 309 n. 10, suggests that most of the texts have a moral character. But it would be equally plausible to view biblical exegesis as the link between many of the texts.

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of the same teacher to Mar Jacob of Naphshatha.’49 Notably, the colophon does not mention that a homily by John Chrysostom interrupts the sequence of works by Jacob of Serugh. The scribe chose to emphasize the authorship of these works, mentioning each author according to their first appearance in the manuscript. The six homilies appear in the same order in both of these manuscripts, and some of them appear in sequence in later works.50 They cover six major feast days and are in calendrical order: the Nativity, the Epiphany, the Fast of Forty Days, the Sunday of Hosannas, the Friday of the Passion, and the Sunday of the Resurrection. Despite the liturgical ordering of the works, they do not preserve many details about the celebration of the feasts.51 Four of the homilies do begin with short remarks about the celebration of feast days.52 But the homilies on the Epiphany and the Sunday of Hosannas contain no such allusions.53 The latter even begins with an exhortation to interpret the biblical text rather than a discussion of the feast, suggesting that it was not originally composed for this event.54 This imbalance suggests, on my view, that Jacob did not compose these homilies as a set with the intention that they would be read at liturgical feasts. Rather it seems more likely that the homilies were stored in an archive of Jacob’s works and only later organized as a set of texts corresponding to the liturgical feasts. This must have taken place either within Jacob’s lifetime or less than one hundred years after his death. Some coordinating evidence for the hypothesis that the set of sermons came together out of an archive with Jacob’s works can be found in the first of the two manuscripts: London, British Library, Add. 14587. The first part of this manuscript consists of the largest extant corpus of Jacob’s letters. Research on the production of letter collections in antiquity has noted how many letter collections came from archives maintained by ecclesiastical figures.55 The corpus of Jacob’s letters in this manuscript exhibits some signs of organization that 49

Rome, Vatican Library, Sir. 109, fol. 65r: ? ÀÎçُüã{¿æ{ÎÝ{ .¿Úðýs¿ÂsxÀÎçóáãÁxzÀĀÚúçóÂuĀÞäàåáý uÎúðÙ€üäàèÙüÚãsx¿ćäÅă{{ .ëÚàÎóçÚÔçÔéÎùx¿óúêòsëÚæzÎÙ€üãx ? .ÀĀþóæxuÎúðÙ€üãÎà¿çóáãxÍáÙxÀüÅs{ .¿çóáã 50 See F. Rilliet, Six homélies festales (1986), 16. 51 F. Rilliet, Six homélies festales (1986), 20, only lists a probable reference to the baptismal font. 52 Jacob of Serugh, Prose Homilies 1.1, 3.1-4, 5.1, 6.1 (F. Rilliet, Six homélies festales [1986], 26, 56, 98, 118). 53 F. Rilliet, Six homélies festales (1986), 19, remarks on the focus of the second homily on the biblical text to the exclusion of the feast. 54 Jacob of Serugh, Prose Homilies 4.1-4 (F. Rilliet, Six homélies festales [1986], 74). 55 See the scattered discussions of archives in Bronwen Neil and Pauline Allen (eds), Collecting Early Christian Letters from the Apostle Paul to Late Antiquity (Cambridge, 2015); Cristiana Sogno, Bradley K. Storin and Edward J. Watts (eds), Late Antique Letter Collections: A Critical Introduction and Reference Guide (Berkeley, 2017).

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suggest this was also the case here: a set of five letters exchanged between Jacob and the monastery of Mar Bassus56 and a sequence of three letters focused on exegesis.57 Parts of both sets of letters appear in the same order in another seventh century manuscript.58 This supports the impression that the letters were assembled from an archive of Jacob’s works, perhaps one that emerged out of Jacob’s exercise of an ecclesiastical office.59 Both parts of this manuscript may well have their origins in an archive of Jacob’s works. As explored above, single-author sermon collections took a variety of shapes and exhibit liturgical ordering from the early fifth century onwards. Jacob’s set of six prose homilies preserved in two seventh-century Syriac manuscripts differs from single-author homiliaries known in Latin. It is not as extensive as, for examples, collections of Augustine’s or Leo’s sermons, and the texts do not necessarily derive from sermons preached on the corresponding feast days. It nonetheless exhibits a similar organizing principle. In this way, this set of homilies is all the more significant as a witness to a distinct and perhaps independent effort to organize the sermons of an individual author according to the liturgical calendar. It offers important evidence for the liturgical ordering of single-author collections of sermons outside of the Latin West. 3. An Anonymous Collection A different type of sermon collection appears in a sixth-century Syriac manuscript: London, British Library, Add. 17181. While the other two codices emphasize authorship, the third manuscript contains anonymous works including 56 Jacob of Serugh, Letters 13-7 (G. Olinder, Epistulae [1937], 52-86). On these letters, see Jean-Pierre Paulin Martin, ‘Lettres de Jacques de Saroug aux moines du Couvent de Mar Bassus, et à Paul d’Edesse, relevées et traduites’, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 30 (1876), 217-75; P.M. Forness, Preaching Christology (2018), 91-9. 57 Jacob of Serugh, Letters 22-4 (G. Olinder, Epistulae [1937], 143-219). On their organization, see Philip Michael Forness, ‘Biblical Exegesis and the Manuscript Transmission of Letters: A Case Study on Jacob of Serugh’s Letter to Maron (Letter 23)’, Δελτίο Βιβλικῶν Μελετῶν, forthcoming. 58 Letters 16-7 appear at the beginning of the manuscript London, British Library, Add. 17163, fol. 1r-10r. It remains possible that the original manuscript preserved all five letters. Letters 22-3 appear in order at the end of the manuscript London, British Library, Add. 17163, fol. 35r-48v. The end of the manuscript is incomplete, so it is possible that Letter 24 would have followed. 59 Only a quarter or so of the letters in the corpus have been dated. Some letters come from the time before he became a bishop in 518 or 519 and some likely from his tenure as bishop. For example, the correspondence with the monastery of Mar Bassus (Letters 13-7) dates between 511 and 513: Taeke Jansma, ‘The Credo of Jacob of Sĕrūgh: A Return to Nicea and Constantinople’, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 44/1 (1962), 33; Taeke Jansma, ‘Encore le credo de Jacques de Saroug: Nouvelles recherches sur l’argument historique concernant son orthodoxie’, L’Orient Syrien 10 (1965), 350-1, 366-7. But Letters 32 and 35 discuss events that occurred in November and December 518, perhaps after Jacob had taken up his episcopal throne: P.M. Forness, Preaching Christology (2018), 104-11.

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a set of homilies ordered according to the liturgical calendar. This section will analyze the composition and contents of this manuscript to investigate why its creators left the works anonymous. I will suggest that this collection should be compared to other collections of model sermons that emerged in the fifth and sixth centuries. London, British Library, Add. 17181 originally consisted of fifteen quires of which the first is no longer extant.60 The surviving 136 folios feature a collection of works designed for use in a monastic setting. The manuscript has been dated to the sixth century.61 William Wright, who catalogued the codex, noted that two different scribes wrote the main text of the manuscript. The switch between the two scribes is evident on folio 43r where one scribe finished writing a text and the other scribe began a new work. This division between the two hands of the manuscript corresponds to a divide in content between texts mostly related to the life of the monastery and a collection of homilies. The first part of the collection (fol. 1r-43r), written by the first scribe, features a set of diverse addresses to be spoken by the abbot and some additional materials. Wright divided this part into seventeen sections. The first three feature series of addresses for the abbot to speak on various occasions: (1) to people who bring gifts to the monastery;62 (2) to the monks during a meal about those who brought gifts;63 and (3) to the monks after they have eaten.64 The next seven sections consist of diverse addresses: (4) on the commemoration of 60 For descriptions of the manuscript, see W. Wright, Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum (1870-2), II 661-8 (no. 738); Christine Moulin-Paliard, Collette Pasquet and Claude Vibert, ‘La seconde homélie syriaque anonyme sur la Nativité du manuscrit BL Add. 17 181’, Parole de l’Orient 35 (2010), 519-24. Two dissertations have focused on works found in this manuscript: Alain Desreumaux, ‘Trois homélies syriaques anonymes sur l’Épiphanie: Introduction, texte, traduction, commentaire’ (Diplôme, École Pratique des Hautes Études, Section des Sciences historiques et philologiques, 1974); Christine Moulin-Paliard, ‘Un “mamllo sur le recueillement” inédit du VIe siècle’ (Diplôme, École Pratique des Hautes Études, Section des Sciences réligieuses, 2005). I have unfortunately not been able to gain access to either work. 61 Some paleographic features may suggest the fifth century, as noted in C. Moulin-Paliard, C. Pasquet and C. Vibert, ‘La seconde homélie’ (2010), 520, 522. But the inclusion of a work by Philoxenus of Mabbug (discussed below) and the comparanda found in Philoxenus’s and Jacob of Serugh’s works as discussed in some of the editions and translations of the works suggest a time when the works of these authors were in circulation. There is better evidence for such circulation in the sixth century. I would therefore lean towards dating the manuscripts to the early sixth century. 62 The thirteenth of these has been published: Christopher Lash, ‘An Address of Thanks’, Parole de l’Orient 6-7 (1975-6), 229-36. 63 The tenth of these addresses has been published: François Graffin, ‘Exhortation d’un supérieur de monastère en syriaque au VIe siècle’, in Corona gratiarum: Miscellanea patristica, historica et liturgica Eligio Dekkers O.S.B. XII lustra complenti oblata, 2 vol., Instrumenta patristica 10-1, vol. 1 (Brugge, 1975), 117-25. 64 One of these addresses has been published: François Graffin, ‘Exhortation d’un supérieur de monastère sur la Résurrection: Extrait d’un homéliaire syriaque du Ve-VIe siècle’, Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph 49 (1975-6), 607-15.

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an abbot; (5) a general address; (6) on a brother who has died; (7) to a rich man who comes to the monastery; (8) three addresses on fasting; (9) on the peace achieved through the order of a monastery;65 and (10) on a priest or deacon who has died. The next three sections are for liturgical occasions: (11) the Nativity;66 (12) the Epiphany;67 and (13) the Resurrection.68 Then follow two sections that feature a liturgical hymn and verses (14-5), 69 and the final two sections consist of addresses on faith (16) and reason (17). The second part of the collection consists of four sets of homilies: (1) eleven on the Nativity;70 (2) two on the Epiphany;71 (3) one on Jesus as the High Priest in Hebrews 5:7;72 and (4) three on the sinful woman in Luke 7:36-50.73 The liturgical occasion for the first two sets is self-evident. The third and four sections may also have been placed in this order for the time around Easter. Some ancient lectionaries assign Hebrews 5 as a reading for the Friday of the Passion,74 while the story of the sinful woman became a regular reading for Thursday in Holy Week.75 Further, given the sequence in the first part of the manuscript of addresses for the Nativity, the Epiphany, and the Resurrection, a set of homilies on the Nativity, the Epiphany, and Holy Week would seem

65 This work has been edited and studied in Christine Moulin-Paliard, ‘Un “mamllo sur le recueillement”’ (2005). But I have not yet had access to this thesis. On this text, which is attributed to Philoxenus in other manuscripts, see A. de Halleux, Philoxène de Mabbog (1963), 288-90. 66 François Graffin, ‘Adresse d’un abbé de monastère au VIe siècle pour la Nativité’, in Mélanges Antoine Guillaumont: Contributions à l’étude des christianismes orientaux, Cahiers d’orientalisme 20 (Geneva, 1988), 257-62. 67 Alain Desreumaux (ed. and trans.), Trois Homélies syriaques anonymes sur l’Épiphanie, PO 38.4 (177) (Turnhout, 1977), 76-80. 68 F. Graffin, ‘Exhortation d’un supérieur de monastère sur la Résurrection’ (1975-6). 69 The earlier of the two has been published: Sebastian P. Brock, ‘An Anonymous Madrasha on Faith’, Oriens Christianus 64 (1980), 48-64. 70 The first two have been published: Alain Desreumaux, ‘Une homélie syriaque anonyme sur la Nativité’, Parole de l’Orient 6-7 (1975-6), 195-212; C. Moulin-Paliard, C. Pasquet and C. Vibert, ‘La seconde homélie’ (2010). 71 A. Desreumaux, Trois Homélies (1977), 24-74. 72 François Graffin (ed. and trans.), Homélies anonymes du VIe siècle: Sur le Grand-Prêtre (Hébr. V, 7), Sur la pécheresse (Luc VII, 36–50) I, II, III, PO 41.4 (189) (Turnhout, 1984), 12-62. 73 François Graffin, ‘Homélies anonymes sur la pécheresse’, L’Orient syrien 7 (1962), 175-222; F. Graffin, Homélies anonymes (1984), 66-80, 84-104, 108-42. 74 See London, British Library, Add. 14487: Odilo Heiming, ‘Ein jakobitisches Doppellektionar des Jahres 824 aus Harran in den Handschriften British Museum Add. 14485 bis 14487’, in Patrick Granfield and Josef A. Jungmann (eds), Kyriakon: Festschrift Johannes Quasten, vol. 2 (Münster, 1970), 789. Despite the date of this manuscript to 824, it preserves a somewhat older lectionary that includes both Old and New Testament readings: Anton Baumstark, Festbrevier und Kirchenjahr der syrichen Jakobiten, Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des Altertums 3.3-5 (Paderborn, 1910), 162. 75 A. Baumstark, Festbrevier (1910), 237; P. Vermeulen, ‘Péricopes bibliques des églises de langue syriaque’, L’Orient Syrien 12 (1967), 379.

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appropriate. But the texts themselves give no evidence of liturgical use, and other explanations remain plausible.76 In any case, the shared order of works on the Nativity and the Epiphany demonstrates the affinity between the two parts of this manuscript. Three aspects of this manuscript reveal its intended use. First, the collection includes materials for use both internally with members of the monastic community and externally with visitors. The three liturgical addresses in the first part (11-3) anticipate visitors to the monastery, as indicated by their titles. The title for the address on the Nativity, for example, reads: ‘An address of the abbot to the brothers and lay people [w-῾ālmāyē] who come to the monastery at the feast of the Nativity, which is spoken at the time of morning prayer after they have rested from the all-night vigil.’77 Second, the titles assigned to the addresses for the three feast days in the first part of the codex designated these texts for reading at or around liturgical celebrations. The addresses for the Nativity and the Resurrection are read at morning prayer, as seen above and in the title for the Resurrection: ‘Next, another address which is spoken by the abbot to the brothers and lay people who are present at the feast of the Resurrection of our Lord at the time of morning prayer.’78 The title for the address for the Epiphany likewise states: ‘Next, a similar type of address, which is spoken at the feast of the Epiphany in the morning after the completion of the service.’79 Although the second half of the manuscript contains no directives for using the homilies, it seems likely that these homilies were intended for use in and around the liturgical celebrations. Third, all works in the collection are anonymous.80 Indeed, at least two observations on the content of the collection hint that this anonymization was intentional. First, an address from the first part of the manuscript reads: ‘Next, a general address of the abbot to the brothers at table in commemoration of the 76 F. Graffin, Homélies anonymes (1984), 6, notes that Philoxenus saw Hebrews 5:7 as a Christologically significant passage against dyophysite views. The first half of the manuscript contains five homilies on the faith, and perhaps this work was included for doctrinal teachings. 77 London, British Library, Add. 17181, fol. 27r: > ? ? ĀÚÂxÁx¾ðÂÁüÙËàèُsx¿Ú äáï{¿Ð sÎàÁüÙxÿٍèãx¿ćááäã > .ÍàÎÝ¿ÚáàxÁÍýèãèÚÑÚæĀãxĀÂèãÁüò‹x¿æËðÂâáãĀãx .ÁËáÙ 78 London, British Library, Add. 17181, fol. 28v: ÿٍèãâáãĀãx¿æüÐs¿ćááäãu{ ? ? Áüò‹x¿æËðÂ…üãxzĀäÚùxÁx¾ðÂèÚáÃùĀêãx¿ÚäáïÎà{¿ ÐsÎàÁüÙx. I did not have access to this folio of the manuscript and have followed the catalogue entry here: W. Wright, Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum (1870-2), II 665. 79 London, British Library, Add. 17181, fol. 27v: ĀÂèãÁüòø¿ÑæxxÁx¾ðÂâáãĀãx¿ćááäãx¿þÚæ{zËÝ{ zu{ A A .ÀĀþäýx¿ćäàÎý 80 It is, of course, possible that the missing folios at the beginning of the collection identified the creators of the collection or authors of individual works. But the lack of any attributions in the remainder of the manuscript would suggest that this was not the case.

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blessed Mar Abbot.’81 No name is given for the abbot who should be commemorated. This address could be used in perpetuity and even in different monasteries. Second, the ninth section of the first part includes an address on the peace in the monastery due to its orderliness. This work is by Philoxenus of Mabbug, although it is anonymous here and contains his name in other manuscripts.82 Several of the homilies in the second half of the collection exhibit Philoxenian influence, making it likely that the creators of this collection knew Philoxenus’s writings.83 This makes the omission of his name in the title of the address all the more surprising. Any monastic community – regardless of its relationship to Philoxenus or any other figure – could use this collection. In the first section of this paper, we observed that anonymized collections of model sermons emerged in the fifth and sixth centuries in Latin. Such works, as François Dolbeau puts it, had practical goals and therefore did not need to name authorship.84 London, British Library, Add. 17181 differs from these collections in its extent, its focus on a monastic community, and its inclusion of non-homiletic materials. Yet there seems to be a similar principle at work. The first part of this manuscript specifies when the various addresses and exhortations should be read. They were model talks to be followed by the abbot. The same seems to be the case for the homilies that follow in the second half of the manuscript. The liturgical ordering of the collection made clear at what time of the year these homilies could be read. The sermons were not included to honor figures from the past. The collection was formed for a practical purpose: to provide sermons or models for preaching for various occasions in the life of a monastery. It forms an important point of comparison for the development of collections of model sermons known in the Latin West. Conclusion The emergence and early development of homiliaries in the Greek- and Syriacspeaking East remain difficult phenomena to trace. This article has analyzed the earliest known evidence for Syriac homiliaries, three manuscripts that 81

London, British Library, Add. 17181, fol. 18v: ? ÿٍ€üãx¿æüÝ{ËÂÁ{ĀòâïĀÙsĀÚ¿ÐsÎàÁüÙxÿٍx¿ćááäãu{ .¿çÂÎÓÁüÙx 82 F. Graffin, Homélies anonymes (1984), 6, comments that Philoxenus’s name appears on fol. 24v where this work appears. There must have been some confusion over the catalogue entry here, as his name does not appear on this folio. 83 See especially the connections drawn to Philoxenian thought in A. Desreumaux, Trois Homélies (1977), throughout; F. Graffin, Homélies anonymes (1984), throughout; and C. Moulin-Paliard, C. Pasquet and C. Vibert, ‘La seconde homélie’ (2010), 532-6. 84 F. Dolbeau, ‘La transmission’ (2018), 43-4.

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date to the sixth and seventh centuries. Two of these manuscripts emphasize authorship and very likely have their origins in archives associated with the ecclesiastical leader Jacob of Serugh. The third codex leaves all works anonymous and thereby seems to have served practical goals. The sermon collections contained in these manuscripts reflect trends known in the Latin West, but they differ in terms of their extent and organization. They therefore represent important moments in the history of homiliaries as collections that ordered received knowledge and shaped it for the present and future.

A Syriac Life of Simeon Stylites (Ms. Damascus 12/17, ff. 52b.1-71b.3). Edition, Analysis and Perspectives Dominique GONNET, s.j., Sources Chrétiennes, Lyon, France

ABSTRACT On Fr René Lavenant’s initiative, a team works on the publication of a Syriac Life of Simeon Stylites in its Damascus version1 at Sources Chrétiennes. The article will present the reasons why we chose to publish its critical edition. We discuss the arguments developed in favor of V by Robert Doran and we give our own arguments. We present the differences between the Damascus manuscript and the Vaticanus one, and between the Damascus one and Antonius’ Life of Simeon and what we can learn from them especially on a historical level. In general, we want to highlight what this version brings to the research on Simeon Stylites. Even if the Damascus manuscript is late, it can be interpreted as giving a slightly different tradition of Simeon’s life which originates from collections of miracles which are parallel to Theodoret’s narrative. We notice in particular the enrichment of the tradition of the miracles. The Damascus manuscript emphasizes Simeon’s immense social role. It is also a witness to the influence of the saint at the time of the Syriac renaissance, when it was written. The Damascus manuscript gathers practically almost the entirety of the tradition which coalesces around Simeon.

Introduction There are several versions of the life of Simeon Stylites: two in Greek, one by Theodoret of Cyrrhus2 and one by a certain Antonius,3 and at least three in Syriac of which one is a Vatican manuscript, another is a British Library manuscript and the third is a Damascus manuscript. They all differ one from another, not only the Greek between themselves, but also the Syriac. It would require a computer model to compare them. Also, we decided to do a critical edition and a translation of one which is not yet edited, and not translated in any modern language. Arthur Vööbus discovered it. Father Lavenant had a copy 1

Ms. Damascus 12/17, ff. 52b.1-71b.3. Théodoret, Histoire des moines de Syrie, ed. Pierre Canivet and Alice Leroy-Molinghen, t. 2, SC 257 (Paris, 1979), 158-215. 3 Antonius, Leben des hl. Symeon, ed. H. Lietzmann, TU 32.4 (Leipzig, 1908), 19-78. 2

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of this manuscript, a manuscript of Mardin n° 271. It was first typed up and we made the translation in a seminar in Lyon. A few years later, we obtained through the kindness of the Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate, now at Damascus, the reproduction of the life contained in the 12/17 manuscript of this library which is the original of the Mardin manuscript. Indeed, Father Lavenant translated the catalog of this library, and published it.4 Sebastian Brock in this same issue of Parole de l’Orient described four manuscripts5 and among them was this one. We have now finished establishing the critical text of the Damascus manuscript in order to edit it at SC. The interest of this version was underlined in an article by Arthur Vööbus himself: Here we are confronted with a witness which unfolds a very interesting stratum in the ramification of textual history of the biography. It is with great joy and satisfaction that the searching has been rewarded with such results beyond every expectation. Now important literary records have come into our possession which throw more light on the streams of traditions in the transmission of the text of a source which historically speaking deserves every effort of critical investigation.6

Thus, Arthur Vööbus attests that this version is particularly interesting, and we shall see why. The manuscripts, their editions and their translations André Bingelli7 describes the originality of this very voluminous manuscript containing 50 lives of monks including that of St Simeon. This volume displays the text in three columns written in Estrangela script. Its copy in garshuni contains the primitive colophon, absent in the original manuscript. According to this colophon, André Bingelli dates the manuscript to the last quarter of the 12th century. Although this manuscript is not the oldest – but this does not mean that it is not representative of the Urtext –, we have chosen to translate it into French. Indeed, there is no complete translation of this version into a modern language while there is a translation of Bedjan’s text,8 that is to say the British Library 4 Yūḥannā Dōlabānī, René Lavenant, Sebastian Brock and Samir Khalil Samir, ‘Catalogue des manuscrits de la bibliothèque du Patriarcat syrien orthodoxe à Ḥomṣ (Auj. à Damas)’, Parole de l’Orient 19 (1994), 555-607. 5 Sebastian Brock, ‘Études des 4 manuscrits’, Parole de l’Orient 19 (1994), 608-20. 6 Arthur Vööbus, ‘Discovery of New Manuscript Sources for the Biography of Symeon the Stylite’, in Carl Laga, Joseph Munitiz and Lucas Van Rompay (eds), After Chalcedon: Studies in Theology and Church History Offered to Professor Albert Van Roey for His Seventieth Birthday, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 18 (Leuven, 1985), 479-84, 484. 7 André Binggeli, ‘Les collections de Vies de saints dans les manuscrits syriaques’, in A. Binggeli (ed.), L’hagiographie syriaque, Études syriaques 9 (Paris, 2012), 49-76 and in particular 50-3. 8 Paulus Bedjan, Acta Martyrum et Sanctorum, t. 4 (Paris, Leipzig, 1894), 507-665.

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Add. 14484, in English9 and in German.10 Otherwise there is an English translation11 of Vaticanus Sir. 160 – an edition of which is in progress by Dina Boero. Discussion of arguments in favor of V and our responses Since Robert Doran chose Vaticanus (V) for his translation, one should discuss the arguments he gives in favor of editing this text and not another. What he calls Mardin is a modern copy of Damascus. 1. ‘There is no published edition of the version of Mardin’12 nor for Damascus. – It is a reason to publish it! 2. ‘The critical version of B by Bedjan has been translated into English and German’. – As said before, the Mardin manuscript (M) alias the Damascus manuscript (D) has never been translated into a modern language. 3. ‘The only previous “translation” of V is the rather free Latin version by Assemani in 1748’, but Doran had to correct some mistakes in the Syriac text of Assemani. – Assemani uses only the Vaticanus manuscript. 4. Doran major argument is that ‘V provides the colophon which dates this version to April 17th, 473’. – Evidently, it is a fairly early date for such a manuscript. Simeon died on September 2nd, 459. Therefore, the manuscript appears very soon after his death, only 14 years later. R. Doran points out that the collections (catenae) of Simeon’s miracles were already available at that time. They are present in Theodoret, who uses the literary genre of the enkômion specifically for Simeon, even if he writes this biography in 444 AD, fifteen years before the saint’s death. Usually, Theodoret stresses his authority as an eye witness. But the Damascus manuscript is more complete. 5. ‘Vaticanus clearly departs … from a chronological account’. – The Damascus manuscript has a chronological account closer to the historical course of events than that of the Vaticanus manuscript. For example, events which happen ‘on the ground’ are placed before Simeon ascends the column.13 The same applies for a number of events. But sometimes the Damascus manuscript follows the course of events of the Vaticanus manuscript, and other 9

Frederick Lent, ‘The Life of St. Simeon Stylites: A Translation of the Syriac Text in Bedjan’s AMS, Vol. IV’, JAOS 35 (1915), 103-98. 10 Hans Lietzmann, ‘Syrische Lebensbeschreibung des Hl. Symeon’, TU 32.4 (Leipzig, 1908), 19-184. 11 Robert Doran, The Lives of Simeon Stylites, Cistercian Studies Series 112 (Kalamazoo, MI, 1992), 101-98. 12 R. Doran, The Lives (1992), 50-1 for this reference and the next ones. 13 R. Doran, The Lives (1992), 49 and 168 (§ 89); Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 55v°b.47-c.22.

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times the course of events of the BL manuscript.14 The fact that they are not in chronological order in the Vaticanus manuscript is not a proof that it represents a more recent tradition than the Damascus manuscript or the BL manuscript. 6. ‘M seems to be aware of the Antonius tradition … M specifies that the names of the two disciples who served Simeon were Marcellus and Antoninus’.15 They were the two disciples who served Simeon and he preferred one of them.16 Robert Doran who reads Antonius for the second makes the connection with the author of the Greek life.17 He also indicates the parallelism, inverted, of the texts with the favorite disciple who in our text puts his own hands on the eyes of Simeon18 who has just died and who in the Greek Life of Anthony19 in the first person, takes the hands of Simeon to put them on his eyes. – The most convincing argument of Damascus manuscript later composition is the fact that it mentions Antoninus’ name. When we look at the appendix where Robert Doran gathered the narratives found only in B and M, we see several texts: Simeon’s brother’s rapture by the Isaurians, the fact that Simeon hang a stone around his neck, Satan who appears in the form of a lion and then of a dragon, healings unknown in V, such as those of a paralytic, of a perpetually bleeding man, of a woman bleeding from her mouth, and of a rich man whose head was bent against his breast; a miraculously overflowing cup of water and also a drought interrupted by rain … But there is also an episode peculiar to Damascus: it is the comparison between the generous rich man and the avaricious man. It is clear that there is often a pattern close to the Gospels narratives. For example, the miracles concerning the blood (Matt. 9:20-2), or the rich who accumulates for himself (Luke 12:16-21). We will now compare first, the Vaticanus manuscript and the Damascus manuscript, and second, the Damascus manuscript and Antonius’ Life of Simeon. Differences between the Vaticanus manuscript and the Damascus manuscript The text of the Damascus manuscript does not provide an exact transcription of the proper names in the Vaticanus manuscript. There are some differences 14

R. Doran, The Lives (1992), 45-8. Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 61v°c.22-9. 16 R. Doran, The Lives (1992), 186-7 (§ 116-7); Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 70r°b.25-c.45. 17 R. Doran, The Lives (1992), 134, n. 133. 18 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 61v°c.33. 19 Antonius, Leben des hl. Symeon, ed. H. Lietzmann, TU 32.4 (Leipzig, 1908), 66, l. 11-2: καὶ κρατήσας τὴν χεῖρα αὐτοῦ ἔθηκα ἐπὶ τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς μου. 15

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that Jean-Baptiste Yon (HiSoMA) has found and that will appear in the Sources Chrétiennes edition: – Môr Shamesh in D20 is Šamšî in B and V, a name more common in the Eastern epigraphy. – The fisher’s daughter in D21 has no name. She is called Maryam in B; Martha in V. – The same for two Romans in D:22 they are called Sylvanus and Bar Shabta in B et V. – D23 agrees with Theodoret to tell that Simeon is in Môr Eusebona’s monastery, that is to say a foundation of Teleda, although V says that he is in Teleda itself. – It seems that B and V think of the modern town of al-Ğabbūl south-west of Aleppo, and D24 of the modern town of Ğabla, the former Gabala, south of Lattaquié. – D25 has Beth Louhé. It is Beth Laha in V. It is a village 3 miles far from Telanissos, which is the place of the column. – R. Doran notes:26 ‘Both B and M (D27) supply names for the three elders of Telneshe to whom Simeon announces that his brother will die: Tlisha, Alis, Maris and Martinos. The names are different from B: Marenes, Demetrianus et Maris (mrns, dmṭryn’, mrys). Such a specification is often an indication of later composition!’ – The mention ‘in JEZIREH’ in D,28 which is not in the text of B29 must be an addition to our version, probably because Ames is understood as an error for Amid (Amida), the city of northern Mesopotamia. This correction is also made by Assemani in his edition of V, a manuscript which nevertheless gives the name Ami. – A. Vööbus points out that in D, ‘his departure from this world took place in the year seven hundred and seventy of the Greeks, in the year five hundred seven according to the reckoning if the Antiochians’. B gives only ‘in the year seven hundred and seventy’.

20

Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 52v°a.31. Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 53v°b.21-2. 22 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 53v°b.26. 23 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 53v°c.41. 24 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 54r°a.35. 25 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 55v°a.12. 26 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 53v°c.41. 27 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 56r°c.34-5. 28 Ms. Damascus 12/17, f. 65v°c.33. 29 P. Bedjan, Acta, t. 4 (Paris, Leipzig, 1894), 604 and note; R. Doran, The Lives (1992), 151, note 170. 21

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Certainly, it is interesting to have a primitive state of the story, even if it is not chronological and the Vaticanus manuscript affords it. Theodoret’s Historia Religiosa (Histoire Philothée in French) uses already some examples of healings, but they are more developed in the Syriac life. Differences between the Damascus manuscript and Antonius’ Life of Simeon The parts in common with Antonius are treated in an interesting way. For example, the Damascus manuscript adds some feature about the abduction by the Isaurians of Simeon’s nephew Thomas and his companions: The young Simeon attempts to liberate them, using documents and gold in order to redeem the captives.30 This detail is absent in Antonius narrative. It is clear that the Damascus manuscript develops Antonius’ life of saint Simeon. Some features are added by the Damascus manuscript at miracles related by Antonius which are picked up from the Gospels or from the Acts of Apostles: ‘In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, rise up on your feet’, Simeon says to a paralytic.31 Another feature is the presence of the dust in a miracle for a woman whose blood flowed from her mouth.32 The dust is used in the miracles which were made before Simeon’s installation on the column. Then, it is the Ḥnônô, a mixture of earth, water and olive oil, flowing from a saint’s tomb. But the most important addition which is in no other version of Simeon’s life is significant to understand the project of the Damascus manuscript. It is indicative of the way the writer of the Damascus manuscript understands his project. It is the story of a famine.33 Two rich noblemen each had a large barn full of corn. One visits Simeon and presents his decision to him, to sell his corn for half the price asked elsewhere and possibly to give the corn away if the needy cannot afford it. The other rich man waits for the price of the corn to increase. The first one does what he has decided, until wanting to show to new askers that his barn has become desperately empty, he finds out that it is full to overflowing! The second has a heart attack on finding his barn burnt to the ground. Conclusion In all of Simeon’s actions in favor of the people like this one, we notice, in conclusion, the immense social role that the story and especially the Damascus 30 31 32 33

Ms. Ms. Ms. Ms.

Damascus Damascus Damascus Damascus

12/17, 12/17, 12/17, 12/17,

f. f. f. f.

53r°b.46-c.1. 56v°b.36-7. 56v°c.22. 69r°c.2-v°a.42.

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manuscript gives him. It is clear that it is not only the miraculous which is at stake, but that there are also necessary elements of local development, here the conversion of a rich man to a social solidarity. Simeon plays a role that the authorities in Late Antiquity, such as the emperors and the bishops, could not play. But there is more: the column created by attraction a charity center, a dispensary of what is vital. Thus, the most radical austerity combines with a love of life, not only individual, but collective in the strength of the constitutive associations of society. The pictures of popular art are revealing.34 Even if the Damascus manuscript is late, it can be interpreted as giving a slightly different tradition of Simeon’s life which originate from collections of miracles which are parallel to Theodoret’s narrative. We have seen that certain proper names of persons and places add some information and precision to the context of the life. The Damascus manuscript is also a witness to the influence of the saint at the time of the Syriac renaissance, when it was written. The Damascus manuscript gathers practically almost the entirety of the tradition which coalesces around Simeon.35

34 See La vida sobre una columna. Vida de Simeón Estilita. Vida de Daniel Estilita, ed. José Simón Palmer (Madrid, 2014), 41. 35 Members of the seminar on D: Georges Bohas, Salam Diab-Duranton, Claire Fauchon, René Lavenant (†), Jean Pflieger, Jean Reynard, Roula Skaf, Jean-Baptiste Yon and Dominique Gonnet.

Jacob of Sarug’s Memra 9 On Praise at Table: A Newly Published Syriac Text Jeff W. CHILDERS, Abilene Christian University, Abilene, TX, USA

ABSTRACT The recent publication of a number of Jacob of Sarug’s memre provides an opportunity to examine the Memra 9 On Praise at Table. An analysis of the memra enables a comparison with the other known Praise at Table (PT) homilies ascribed to Jacob, showing that it shares key features with them yet has a distinct focus. Like the other memre On Praise at Table, PT 9 presumes a meal setting, yet in this case it is a marriage feast. Although it draws on certain Christological themes to be found elsewhere in Jacob’s works, it does so to convey teaching about the sanctity of human marriage as a part of God’s good creation, the appropriateness of the wedding celebration, and the function of the human bride and groom as witnesses to deep mysteries.

With the recent appearance of 160 unpublished homilies of Jacob of Sarug,1 many new works ascribed to the prolific late antique Syriac author have been brought to light. This article examines one such work: Jacob of Sarug’s Memra 9 On Praise at Table. An analysis of the memra’s main features will provide insight into this unstudied text, enabling a comparison with the known cycle of eight ‘Praise at Table’ hymns ascribed to Jacob and helping to determine the new memra’s proper relationship to the known cycle and clarify its contributions to our understanding of Jacob’s thought. In 1908 Paul Bedjan published eight homilies ascribed to Jacob of Sarug, On Praise at Table (PT).2 In most ways these homilies are like many of Jacob’s poems, employing his standard meter of twelve-syllable lines and using expressions, images, themes, and interpretive strategies that are characteristic of him. They begin in invocation and end in brief doxology. Yet they also share some distinguishing features. For instance, they are fairly short, around 100 lines each (i.e. 50 couplets). But their most distinctive quality is the presumption of 1 R. Akhrass and I. Syryany (eds), 160 Unpublished Homilies of Jacob of Serugh (Damascus, 2017). 2 P. Bedjan, Homiliae Selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis, 2nd ed. (Piscataway, NJ, 2006), IV 872-914. The homilies are now available also with a translation and introduction in J.W. Childers, Jacob of Sarug’s Homilies on Praise at Table, Texts from Christian Late Antiquity 46 (Piscataway, NJ, 2016).

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a meal setting. Most of them make explicit reference to a meal3 that it would appear the audience is just finishing, and for which the preacher strives to evoke their thanksgiving.4 The meal is not strictly liturgical nor specifically eucharistic. Although some of the imagery is reminiscent of eucharistic themes, the homilies do not support the performance of eucharistic liturgy. Moreover, the preacher is often at pains to show the relatively inferior value of the (physical) food the listeners are sharing in comparison to the (spiritual) nourishment of his preaching and scripture, a comparison unsuitable to eucharistic liturgy. I have suggested elsewhere that the setting for at least most of the PT homilies may be paraliturgical, a late antique fraternal meal shared by Christians in a communal context and presided over by the bishop5 – sort of a parish meal, with preaching as dessert.6 The author’s recurring appeal for the audience to be thankful, both for the food and for deeper and longer-lasting spiritual blessings from God, indicate these memre could have functioned as post-meal thanksgivings. Besides the pervasive themes of gratitude and thanksgiving, the homilies meditate on such mundane but delightful topics as the wonders of grape fermentation, the miraculous wisdom of honeybees, and the rapturous delights of grain harvests. Their moral instruction emphasizes the virtue of contentment, avoiding gluttony, moderation in drinking wine, and appreciation for those who serve the meal. Homilies ascribed to Jacob entitled ‘On Praise at Table’, or simply, ‘On the Table’, occur in a number of manuscripts and in different quantities. Bedjan published the eight memre on the basis of at least two manuscripts that he vaguely describes as, ‘copies from Beirut and Mardin’.7 Yet some extant manuscripts 3 Although in most ways Praise at Table 1 fits the style and structure of the rest, its celebration of providence refers to God’s universal provision rather than the specifics of the meal (see lines 9-12, 17, 65-80, 97-100). 4 The audience is never specified and the homilies’ contents are applicable to a general audience, as is often the case with Jacob’s memre. See S.A. Harvey, ‘To Whom Did Jacob Preach?’, in G.A. Kiraz (ed.), Jacob of Serugh and His Times. Studies in Sixth-Century Syriac Christianity, Gorgias Eastern Christian Studies 8 (Piscataway, NJ, 2010), 115-31. 5 See J.W. Childers, Jacob of Sarug’s Homilies on Praise at Table (2016), 1-14; id., ‘“Season Your Meal with Scripture”: Cultivating Biblical Imagination at Table in Late Antique Christian Communities’, in J.W. Thompson and R.A. Wright (eds), Ethics in Contexts (Eugene, OR, 2019), 107-20. 6 Jacob’s PT homilies typically occur in manuscripts also having a similar cycle attributed to Ephrem, Memre de mensa (‘Homilies of the Table’), see L. Mariès, L. Froman and F. Graffin, ‘Mimré de Saint Ephrem sur la bénédiction de la table’, L’Orient Syrien 4 (1959), 73-109, 163-92, 285-98. Pierre Yousif concluded that the latter presumed the context of a fraternal meal, perhaps in the tradition of the ancient Agape, drawing attention to the clear references to food, the variety of diners in attendance, and the trappings of an ordered religious meal, separate from the liturgy and the Eucharist (P. Yousif, ‘Le repas fraternel ou l’agapé dans les memre sur la table attribués à Saint Ephrem’, ParOr 9 [1979-80], 51-66). 7 P. Bedjan, Homiliae Selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (2006), 4:viii-ix. For discussion and bibliography on the manuscripts, see J.W. Childers, Jacob of Sarug’s Homilies on Praise at Table (2016), 20-6.

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have a ninth memra On Praise at Table, following upon the other eight,8 and in 2017 R. Akhrass and I. Syryany published this ninth memra9 on the basis of the following four manuscripts, listed according to their sigla: A B C M6

Damascus Patr. 12/13 Damascus Patr. 12/14 Damascus Patr. 12/15 Mardin Orth. 136

1031 CE eleventh century 1156 CE 1725 CE

no. 180 (base manuscript) no. 183 no. 185 no. 185 (CFMM 00136)

Memra 9 shares some important features with the other PT memre. First, although it is longer than the others, at 130 lines (65 couplets) it is still rather short and of roughly the same scope. The longest among the eight other PT memre (PT 3) has 110 lines and the shortest (PT 8) has 96 lines. Many of Jacob’s memre are much longer. Memra 9 also concludes with brief doxology, yet it does not open with invocation. Perhaps most significantly, it does emphasize thanksgiving like the others do. One important feature it does share with the others is the presumption of a meal setting – but in this case, a wedding feast. The beginning and end of Memra 9 set the listener squarely into the scene of a wedding. The wedding motif is not significant in the other eight PT homilies, except in PT 2 (lines 41-8, 70-2), where the head of wheat in its husk is likened to a bride who is longingly embraced by her betrothed, the farmer, as he undresses her in the threshing floor/bridal chamber. Yet although the wedding theme is barely present in the other PT homilies, it is a significant theme in Jacob’s writings, and this memra draws on wedding motifs we find him using elsewhere: Christ as the bridegroom, the wedding of Cana, Adam and Eve’s relationship, and the church as bride.10 8 It should be noted that these manuscripts also include Memra 10 ‘On Praise at Table’, which is distinctive. M. Albert edited that homily from an eighth-century Sinai manuscript (M. Albert, ‘Mimro inédit de Jacques de Saroug sur le sacerdoce et l’autel’, ParOr 10 [1981-1982], 51-77), where it is ascribed to Jacob and entitled, ‘On the Priesthood and on the Table’, corresponding to Memra 10 On Praise at Table in Mardin Orth. 136 and Damascus Patr. 12/15, presumably Damascus 12/13-4 as well (see J.W. Childers, Jacob of Sarug’s Homilies on Praise at Table [2016], 20-6; and Y. Dolobany, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in Za’faran Monastery (Dairo dmor Hananyo) [Damascus, 1994], 55). Although listed alongside the other eight Praise at Table homilies in these sources, the so-called Memra 10 is rather different. At 346 lines (173 couplets), it is far longer; also, it focuses on the priesthood of Christ, his bequest of his priestly role to the apostles and the priests of his church, and the replacement of bloody sacrifices by the bread and wine of the Eucharist. It does not presume the sort of fraternal meal we see in the others but could easily be construed as an explication of the clergy and their role in the liturgy. Perhaps it was assimilated to the PT cycle in the manuscripts due to its emphasis on the eucharistic table. 9 R. Akhrass and I. Syryany, 160 Unpublished Homilies of Jacob of Serugh (2017), I 451-3. They give the homily as Memra 52 in their edition. In the manuscripts it is entitled Memra 9, ‘On Praise at Table’, with slight title variations. 10 S.P. Brock and S.A. Harvey especially have explored this, building on R. Murray’s study of the bridal imagery in earlier Syriac authors; see R. Murray, Symbols of Church and Kingdom:

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However, Memra 9 emphasizes a normal, human wedding in ways that are not as prominent in those other contexts. As previously mentioned, it opens on the scene of a wedding:11 The bridegroom and bride portray a beautiful image of the Son of God and the Daughter of Nations, his betrothed. A man and woman become one when they are joined in marriage, and this is the symbol with which Eve and Adam were adorned. … Adam the groom portrayed the Messiah, and Eve portrayed the Church of the Nations, who has cleaved to and become one with the Messiah. PT 9, 1-2, 4

The homily appeals to this symbolism several times, pointing to the ways that a wedding couple depict Christ and his bride, as we find elsewhere in Jacob. However, in this memra the Christological symbolism is less the point and more the justification for something else. The memra dwells on the attractiveness of the wedding and the appropriateness of marriage, for they draw their beauty and justification from the Christological meaning that has been inscribed in the married couple, since the coupling of Adam and Eve: This is why bridegrooms are adored at their wedding banquets: because of the image of the Son of God with which they are dressed; and brides in their bridal chambers evoke great desire, because the church is being depicted in the splendor of their raiment. The wedding banquet of the groom and bride is elegant and beautiful, and all who are discerning esteem and bless it. PT 9, 5-7

The author explains that the path of the married couple is ‘the great path in ? which all the Upright (¿æ¾Ý) walk, / and in which the whole world was given (to walk) from the beginning’ (PT 9, 8). Hence, there is no shame in their being wedded or in their intercourse. The author exclaims, ‘Everything that he made, everything that he created, everything that he built – his creation is good and apt and wondrous!’ (PT 9, 13) This includes the married couple. As part of God’s marvelous creation and inscribed with Christological meaning, marriage is ‘above fault and is beautiful’ (PT 9, 14). By attending the wedding and by facilitating a wedding and celebrating what it is in God’s sight, those who are holy confess these things as well: A Study in Early Syriac Tradition, revised ed. (Piscatway, NJ, 2004), 131-42; S.P. Brock, ‘“The Wedding Feast of Blood on Golgotha”: an Unusual Aspect of John 19:34 in Syriac Tradition’, The Harp 6 (1993), 121-34; S.A. Harvey, ‘Bride of Blood, Bride of Light: Biblical Women as Images of Church in Jacob of Serug’, in G. Kiraz (ed.), Malphono w-Rabo d-Malphone: Festschrift for Sebastian P. Brock (Piscataway, NJ, 2008), 189-218. 11 Quotations from PT 9 are given according to line number. Translations of the Syriac are the author’s.

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This is why the priest has confidence, and happily blesses the bed of conjugal intercourse; and the bridegroom invites the holy ones and the pious ones, so that the bride may enter into her bedroom with blessings. PT 9, 10-1

After all, the preacher goes on to explain, although some, like the sons of Israel’s judges fell into adultery and fornication (e.g. 1Sam 2:22), others, like Noah, have walked the matrimonial path to great acclaim (PT 9, 20-1). The difference between the way of the world and the way of the virtuous is not that of chastity vs. marriage, but that of fornication and adultery, in which the children of darkness walk, and the marriage of the Upright: ‘Marriage is the great way of the kingdom’ (PT 9, 23). The memra acknowledges that the way of marriage is inferior to that of virginity and holiness, or that of the Perfect (ÁĄÚäÅ; PT 9,24), but this is a small point in the argument. The emphasis on the beauty of Christian marriage is far greater in this memra. The poet exclaims, ‘How excellent is the way of the Upright, how excellent – it is a rank just below the pinnacle of holiness!’ (PT 9, 22). Throughout this section extolling Christian marriage, amounting to nearly half the memra (lines 1-48), the focus is not on Christ but on the marriage and the expectation that clergy and the holy will affirm and bless the wedding. ‘The ? discerning’ (¿ý{Ąò) and those who are ‘learned in the mysteries’ (À|săÛïËÙ) should be glad to ‘recline at the wedding banquet because it is loved on account of God’ (PT 9, 15). After establishing that, in line 25 the author shifts the focus to reflect on another wedding feast, that famous wedding blessed by the presence and miraculous intervention of Christ, the wedding at Cana (Jn. 2:1-11). Yet it quickly becomes clear that the reason for mentioning this gospel story is to show that Christ’s presence at Cana affirmed the status of marriage as part of God’s good creation: The Son of God reclined at the banquet in the wedding feast, showing openly that he himself loves the way of the Upright; becoming a witness concerning the creatures, as to how lovely they are, and how comely, and how far above reproach. PT 9, 25-6

When we look at others of Jacob’s memre, outside the PT homilies, we find passages similarly affirming the appropriateness of marriage. For instance, in his much longer memra devoted to the Miracle of Cana (Memra 167),12 Jacob explains that Jesus’ presence shows ‘that the way of marriage is pure’, and ‘excellently instituted by God’ (ÀÎòÎýx¿Ð{s€z¿ÚÝxxè㏀ÎÐ ÀÍàsèã¿Å{{|‰sèùĀãüÚóý{). He goes on to declare that Jesus ‘reclined at the feast to bless the bed of conjugal intercourse’ (¿Þäê¿çÅ 12

P. Bedjan, Homiliae Selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (2006), V 480-94.

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ÀÎòÎýx Íéüï ‚üÃæ).13 In that context, Jacob stresses that Jesus’ participation in the wedding feast at Cana does several things: it demonstrates both his divinity and his humanity; it lays down types that will be taken up again later in his ministry, especially at the crucifixion; and the wedding feast provides a fine opportunity for Jesus to begin offering the new wine of his preaching. Furthermore, the Messiah is the bridegroom, who ‘came to betroth the church of the nations by his sacrifice’.14 The focus in the memra on Cana is Christological, and the affirmation of human marriage, though clear, is practically incidental. Similarly, in the fourth memra ‘On Sodom’ (Memra 154),15 marriage is described as ‘pure’ (¿ÚÝx) in comparison to fornication. Celebrated as the way of Noah, Abraham, and Moses, ‘marriage is thoroughly clothed in lovely ? > 16 colors’ (ÍáÝ¿óÚÔï¿ćäÚÐă¿æ ÎÅÀÎòÎý), putting adultery to shame. If virginity is too hard for you, you will find marriage ‘easy and peaceful’, the preacher claims (èÚþã{âÚàx¿Å{{|Àz).17 By contrast, the memra on Jesus’ encounter with the woman with seven husbands (see Matt. 22:2532; Lk. 20:27-38) is less appreciative of human marriage, since there it is being contrasted with the heavenly state, that Jacob holds to be superior.18 Unsurprisingly, Jacob’s memra on virginity elevates virginity.19 Those who travel that way belong to the order of Gabriel. Yet marriage is not unholy; it ? 20 is ‘the way of the Upright’ (¿æ¾Ýx¿Ð{s). Whereas fornication is the way of the beasts, marriage and intercourse is the way of exemplary patriarchs, and ‘the person who walks in the way of the Upright is among the ? ? saints’ ({z ¿þÙËù èã ¿æ¾Ýx ¿Ð{¾Â ßàzx ¿çÙs{).21 Jacob’s second memra on Passion Week (Memra 53.2)22 allows: ‘marriage… is not hateful— although it is inferior and full of aggravations’ (À{zÎà¿Å{{| ? ¿Â¾Ý ¿ćáã{ ßÚÞãx ¿ćàs ¿çéx).23 In these contexts, we glean references to marriage illustrating Jacob’s (qualified) appreciation for it. Yet those references are more incidental to the thrust of the memre, usually Christological, or they come as allowances in a context elevating virginity. In PT 9, the topic of human marriage is in focus from the 13

Ibid. V 484.9-10; 485.6. Ibid. V 484.2. 15 Ibid. V 117-53; see 150.17-8. 16 Ibid. V 151.4-5, 16, 19. 17 Ibid. V 151.10. 18 Ibid. V 569-87. See also T. Bou Mansour, La Théologie de Jacques de Saroug I, Bibliothèque de l’Université Saint-Esprit 36 (Kaslik, 1993), I 217. 19 P. Bedjan, S. Martyrii, qui et Sahdona, quae supersunt omnia (Paris, Leipzig, 1902), 832-42; also in P. Bedjan, Homiliae Selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (2006), VI 221-31. 20 P. Bedjan, S. Martyrii, qui et Sahdona (1902), 836.11-2; 836.4, 13, 20. 21 Ibid. 836.1; 835.20-1; see also 835.5-6; 836.13-4. 22 P. Bedjan, Homiliae Selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (2006), II 473-88. 23 Ibid. II 475.4-5; see also 474.17-8; 475.6-7. 14

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beginning. Even its explication of the wedding at Cana has a distinct tone. Its Christological teaching is minimal and typology is scarce. Two lines extol Christ as ‘the royal bridegroom who came to betroth a bride by his blood … who gave a ring to the daughter of the poor’ (ÎÞäæxÀsx¿Þáã¿æĀÐ ? > uÍÙ À{Āþã ĀÚ … ÍãË ÀĀáÝ; ¿çÞê㠏üÃà ÀĀùÏï Íà PT 9, 53-4; see also 9, 28), but apart from these typological hints to Jesus’ salvific death and the redemption of his bride the church, the greater emphasis in this section is on two things: 1) Jesus’ splendid wedding present, the wine Jesus crafted for them, an elixir that guests cannot stop talking about and is a marvelous testimony to Christ’s power and the sweetness of his salvation; and 2) the appropriateness of his choice of the venue in which to inaugurate his ministry: a wedding feast (PT 9, 27-62). The same theme is evident especially in the memra on Cana (Memra 167), near the beginning of which Jacob intones about Jesus, ‘If it were the case that marriage and intercourse were impure, / he would not have gone in and taken part in its supper’.24 PT 9 expresses similar reasoning in its conclusion. When we come to the end of PT 9, the speaker connects the scene at Cana back to the beginning of the homily, returning the listener again to the opening scene of a human wedding and speaking on behalf of the bride and groom, as if they were actually present: The Son of virginity blessed the bed of matrimony, and he did not spurn the marriage of his servant and his maidservant. Instead, he showed that he himself completes it and he himself loves it, and he blesses it, when it does not fall from Uprightness. Let the bridegroom and the bride be blessed by you, Son of God, for by their nuptials they portray your image! Praise to you! PT 9, 63-5

And thus the memra ends, with a scene of human marriage as both the point of departure and point of conclusion to the homily, with groom and bride being blessed and ennobled by the portrait they depict. The brief analysis of this study reveals that PT 9 is both like and unlike the other eight homilies with which it circulates. Like them, it presumes the setting of a meal, though in this case it is a marriage feast. The food is not front and center as it is in the others, but instead we have the trappings of a human wedding. The aim of the memra is not to evoke thanksgiving, but the author is at pains to underscore the sanctity of marriage and to explain why the priest and even those who are called to lives of virgin holiness should be glad to be present and affirm it. For not only is marriage the divinely sanctioned path of the Upright, a road shared by many among the saints of old, but it was affirmed by Christ’s presence at Cana. Most of all, the joining of bridegroom and bride is 24

P. Bedjan, Homiliae Selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (2006), 483.17-8.

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an event full of symbols (…{ÍÙ|să åï è㏠ÀĀáÝ{ ¿æĀÐx ¿ÞÙs; PT 9, 57), depicting truths about Christ and his church, so that the wedding to which we as listeners have been invited provides an opportunity to witness deep mysteries in a unique way. Whose wedding is it that we are attending? PT 9 is not a wedding service. We could speculate that the wedding it pictures is so prominent and functions in such a way that an actual wedding celebration provides background to the memra in its present form, in much the same way that a fraternal meal appears to be the setting of at least most of the other memre On Praise at Table. But we have insufficient evidence to claim with confidence that this memra was prepared for actual performance in conjunction with a wedding meal. However, the matrimonial setting it conjures from the beginning, its thrust towards affirming human marriage, its meditation on marriage symbolism, and the conjugal blessing at the end, with bride and groom standing nearby, would make it a fitting accompaniment to a late antique Christian wedding.

Towards a New Edition of the Book of Hierotheos Nicolò SASSI, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA

ABSTRACT Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book of the Hidden Secrets of the House of God, commonly known as Book of Hierotheos, represents one of the most obscure and sumptuous chapters in the history of Syriac mysticism. The only existing edition of this text was produced in 1927 by British scholar Fred Marsh, who composed an eclectic edition based on the three manuscripts known to him. Since the time of Marsh, new archival finds, especially among the monastic communities of the region of Tur Abdin in southeastern Turkey, have broadened significantly the base of manuscript witnesses of this work, and represent an unexplored mine of textual information on the origin and the formation of Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book. In this article I will consider how one might use the new corpus of manuscript finds to shed new light on this text and its significance, consider whether a new edition shall be produced, and discuss what such an edition should look like.

Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book of the Hidden Secrets of the House of God, commonly known as Book of Hierotheos, represents one of the most obscure and sumptuous chapters in the history of Syriac mysticism.1 The only existing edition of this text was produced in 1927 by British scholar Fred Marsh, who composed an eclectic edition based on the three manuscripts known to him.2 Since the time of Marsh, new archival finds, especially among the monastic communities of the region of Tur Abdin in southeastern Turkey, have broadened significantly the base of manuscript witnesses of this work, and represent an unexplored mine of textual information on the origin and the formation of Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book.3 In this article I will consider how one might use the 1 All scholars who have worked on this text consider it pseudo-epigraphic. A long tradition dating back to the Middle Ages attributes this text to the sixth century Edessan monk Stephen bar Sudaili: Arthur L. Frothingham, Stephen bar Sudaili the Syrian Mystic and the Book of Hierotheos (Leiden, 1886), 63-8. 2 Fred S. Marsh, The Book which is Called the Book of the Holy Hierotheos, with Extracts from the Prolegomena and Commentary of Theodosios of Antioch and from the “Book of Excerpts” and Other Works of Gregory Bar-Hebræus, Text and Translation Society 7 (London, 1927). 3 On the discoveries at Tur Abdin see Giuseppe Furlani, ‘Un manoscritto beirutino del Libro di Ieroteo di Stephano Bar Sudhaylê’, Rivista degli Studi Orientali 11 (1926-1929), 103-7, 103 (despite the fact that this article was published in June 1926, namely before his 1927 critical edition, Marsh

Studia Patristica CXXV, 157-163. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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new corpus of manuscript finds to shed new light on this text and its significance, consider whether a new edition shall be produced, and discuss what such an edition should look like. The most recent recensio of Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book was established by Karl Pinggéra in his 2002 monograph on the subject.4 It includes twenty-two manuscripts: (1) H = MS Syr. 81 (= ex-Harvard Semitic Museum 4009), Cambridge (MA), 18th c.5 (2) A = Brit. Lib. Add. 7189, London, 13th c.6 (3) B = Brit. Lib. Or. 1071 fol. 120v-159r, London, 14th c.7 (4) Orth. 96 (ex 216), Aleppo, unknown dating8 (5) Ming. Syr. 99, Birmingham, 19th c.9 (6) Ming. Syr. 157, Birmingham, 19th c.10 (7) Nr. 20, Université de Saint Joseph, Bibliothèque Orientale, 17th c.11 (8) Patr. 4/6, Damascus, 20th c.12 (9) Patr. 4/16, Damascus, 20th c.13 (10) Patr. 6/14, Damascus, 17th c.14 (11) Nr. 103, Mardin, Dēr Za’farān, 13th c.15 seems not to be aware of Furlani’s findings); Arthur Vööbus, ‘Discovery of new manuscript sources for the Book of the Holy Hierotheos’, Rivista degli studi orientali 49 (1975), 185-9. 4 Karl Pinggéra, All-Erlösung und All-Einheit. Studien zum “Buch des heiligen Hierotheos” und seiner Rezeption in der syrisch-orthodoxen Theologie, Sprachen und Kulturen des christlichen Orients 10 (Wiesbaden, 2002), 35-9. 5 Description in F. Marsh, The Book (1927), 199-202. 6 Description in Friederich A. Rosen and Josiah Forshall, Catalogus codicum manuscriptorum orientalium qui in Museo Britannico asservantur, pars prima: codices syriacos et carshunicos amplectens (London, 1838), 74-6, and F. Marsh, The Book (1927), 191-7. 7 Description in William Wright, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum acquired since the Year 1838, part II (London, 1871), 892-5, and F. Marsh, The Book (1927), 197-9. 8 K. Pinggéra, All-Erlösung (2002), 35. 9 Description in Alphonse Mingana, Catalogue of the Mingana Collection of Manuscripts now in the Possession of the Trustees of the Woodbrooke Settlement vol. 1 (Birmingham, 1933), 246. 10 Description in A. Mingana, Catalogue (1933), 360. 11 Description in G. Furlani, ‘Un manoscritto’ (1926-1929), and Ignace A. Khalifé and François Baissari, ‘Catalogue raisonné des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Orientale de l’Université Saint Joseph. Manuscrits Syriaques’, Mélanges de l’Université Saint Joseph 40 (1964), 255. 12 Description in Yuhanna Dōlābānī, René Lavenant, Sebastian Brock and Samir Khalil Samir, ‘Catalogue des manuscrits de la bibliothèque du Patriarchat Syrien Orthodoxe à Homs’, Parole de l’Orient 19 (1994), 568; A. Vööbus, ‘Discovery’ (1975), 189. 13 Description in Y. Dōlābānī, R. Lavenant, S. Brock and S. Khalil Samir, ‘Catalogue’ (1975), 569, and A. Vööbus, ‘Discovery’ (1975), 189 14 Description in Y. Dōlābānī, R. Lavenant, S. Brock and S. Khalil Samir, ‘Catalogue’ (1975), 588. 15 Description in Yuhanna Dōlābānī, Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in Za’faran Monastery (Dayro dMor Nahanyo), edited and published with introduction by Mar Gregorios Yohanna Ibrahim, metropolitan of Aleppo (Damascus, 1994), 26-33 (in Syriac), and Aphram I. Barṣaum, Nuzhat

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Nr. 10, Edessa, unknown dating16 Homs.17 Orth. 412, Mardin, 14th c.18 Orth. 413, Mardin, 18th c.19 Orth. 415, Mardin, 14th c.20 Orth. 420, Mardin, 15th c.21 MS 44 Syrian Orthodox Archdiocese (= Orth. 1/22), Mosul, 18th-19th c.22 Orth. 139, Mosul, 19th c.23 Syr. 227, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, 17th c.24 Fond. Patr. 178, Šarfeh, 14th-15th c.25 Fond. Patr. 460, Šarfeh, 16th c.26

To the manuscripts indexed by Pinggéra one more must be added: (23) Nr. 70, Midiyat, Mor Barsawmo Library, 20th c.27 Hitherto, I have been able to examine twelve of these twenty-three manuscripts. They contain two different versions of the text: a longer version, usually accompanied by the commentary of Theodosius of Antioch, and a shorter version, which appears to be the edited and abridged recension produced in the second half of the thirteenth century by the Syrian bishop and polymath Gregory bar Hebræus. Manuscripts 1, 2, 14, 15, and 16 contain the long version. Manuscripts 3, 4, 5, 6, 18, 20 and 23 contain the shortened version. al-adhān fī tā’rīh dayr az-Za’farān wa fīhu lamha fī tā’rīh abrašīat Mārdīn wa adyāruhā / Histoire du Couvent de S. Hanania Appele Deir-uz-Zapharan (Mardin, 1917), 146 (in Arabic). 16 Description in Anton Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur mit Ausschluß der christlich-palästinischen Texte (Bonn, 1922), 350, and Eduard Sachau, ‘Über Syrische HandschriftenSammlungen im Orient’, Mitteilung des Seminars für orientalische Sprachen 3/2 (Reimer, 1900), 44. 17 A manuscript containing ‘une copie du très rare Livre de Hiérothée (d’après un manuscrit de Malabar), accompagné du Commentaire du Théodose’ is described by Louis Delaporte, Rapport sur une mission scientifique à Charfé (Liban) (Paris, 1908), 46. 18 Description in Vööbus, ‘Discovery’ (1975), 187. 19 Description in Vööbus, ‘Discovery’ (1975), 188. 20 Description in Vööbus, ‘Discovery’ (1975), 188. 21 Description in Vööbus, ‘Discovery’ (1975), 188. 22 Description in Joseph Habbi, Catalogue of the Syriac Manuscripts in Iraq, vol. 2 (Baghdad, 1981), 163. 23 Description in Vööbus, ‘Discovery’ (1975), 189. 24 Description in Hermann Zotenberg, Manuscrits orientaux. Catalogue des manuscrits syriaques et sabéens (mandaïtes) de la Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris, 1874), 174-6. 25 Description in Benham Sony, Le catalogue de manuscrits du patriarchat au couvent de Charfet-Liban (Beirut, 1993), 64. 26 Description in B. Sony, Le catalogue (1993), 281. 27 This manuscript has been catalogued and digitalized in 2013 by the team of the Hill Museum & Manuscript Library, and it is currently accessible online at https://www.vhmml.org/.

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The text of the longer recension, which I focus on here, witnesses a stage of the text that precedes the editorial intervention of Bar Hebræus. This conclusion can be drawn on the basis of the colophon of ms. # 2 (= MS Add 7189). The colophon reveals that this manuscript, retrieved by the British diplomat and orientalist Claudius Rich during his years of sojourn and travel in Syria and Mesopotamia and later acquired by the trustees of the British Library in 1825, is the result of the restoration work of a thirteenth century monk of the monastery of Mār Mattaī near Mosul, who gave the manuscript its current form in the year of the Greeks 1580, or 1269 AD. We know from a note in the Harvard codex used by Marsh (= number 1 in the above list)28 that Bar Hebræus compiled his abridged edition of the book in Mosul in 1277, namely after the terminus ante quem of composition of the text preserved in BL 7189. Consequently, the text preserved in that manuscript belongs to a stage of the tradition of the Book which predates Bar Hebræus’ editorial revision, and so do the texts of the Harvard and Der Za’faran codices (= manuscripts 1 and 11 of the above list). The text of the longer version of pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book preserved in these manuscripts is the result of a highly diastratic composition which took place over an unknown but most likely extended period of time. This was already evident to Marsh, who writes that in pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book “the kind of phenomenon which in many texts betrays the presence of interpolations – awkward syntax, inconsistencies, double narratives and repetitions, unexplained entrances and exits, sudden returns to previous subjects – abounds”.29 Further support for this theory is found in the Medieval Syriac author Theodosius of Antioch. In the sixth of his eight summaries of the Book placed at the beginning of MS Add 7189, Theodosius describes the book as having three κεφάλαια or sections: the first one concerning “what is the beginning and the end” (¿ćäàÎý{ ¿ÙÎý {z ¿çã), the second concerning “the whole glorious and holy mystery of the house of God, and the union unto the good” (ÀĀÃ֏ÎàxÁËÙÎÐ{ÀÍàsĀÚÂx¿þÙËù{¿ÑÚÃýÍáÝÀ|s), the third on “warnings concerning the holy mysteries of the house of God, • • that they be not revealed to Minds which are not pure” (À|syâÔãÁ yz{| • • 30 Although èÚÝx¿ćàxèÚáÙs¿æ{Íà…ÎáÅĀæ¿ćàxÀÍàsĀÚÂx¿þÙËù). these themes do appear in different parts of the Book as it appears in the extant manuscript witnesses, this description does not match the five part structure of the Book found in them. Such discrepancy is likely the result of some kind of manipulation of the book operated by addition, reduction, reorganization, or possibly all of the above, which occurred between the time of Theodosius and 28 The note is found on folio 8v (text edited in F. Marsh, The Book [1927], 176*, and translated at 186). 29 F. Marsh, The Book (1927), 214. 30 Ibid. 153.

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the time of Bar Hebræus. It is clear that this work is a literary golem, resulting from a diachronic textual stratification produced by multiple agents. As such, Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book is a significantly challenging text to edit, and requires a sound reflection on the ecdotic principles that will be applied to produce an edited text that can be called ‘critical’. In his survey of past and present trends in Syriac philology, Mengozzi has highlighted multiple methodologies chosen by scholars to produce editions of classical Syriac texts, like the diplomatic, the eclectic, and the Lachmaniann.31 It goes without saying that these three ecdotic visions are not the only ways for the philologist, and that endless hybrid possibilities lie in between these. Nonetheless, it is useful to begin from these three models to reflect on the potential and limits of each. The diplomatic model, at least as conceived by Draguet during his years as director of the CSCO,32 endeavors to give access to the text as much as possible without modern interpretive superstructures. Although this model has indeed a fundamental purpose, a diplomatic edition seems of little use in the age of technical reproducibility of manuscripts. New centers like the Hill Museum & Manuscript Library, as well as long-established ones such as the Vatican Library, have been uploading online open access, high quality photographical reproductions of numerous Eastern Christian manuscripts, and it is not difficult to see how the manuscripts that have not been digitalized yet may be digitalized soon. It may still be argued that a diplomatic edition is beneficial inasmuch it provides an interpretation of the paleographical data by establishing a typed, unambiguous text. Yet this seems too little to justify the investment of time and resources that go into the creation of a new edition if we consider that Syriac paleography does not pose the problems of, for example, its Byzantine or Arabic counterparts when it comes to the decipherability of handwritten documents. In a way, the diplomatic methodology stands at odds with the eclectic one. For the eclectic model, the ultimate mission of the editor is to produce a text that is fully readable. In order to achieve this goal, the editor is allowed to modify aspects of the text, for example by normalizing grammar, orthography, and lexicon. In terms of Pasquali’s philological vision, the stress is more on critica del testo (“textual criticism”) rather than on storia della tradizione (“history of the tradition”). If, as we have seen, the diplomatic model is of little use in the age of technical reproducibility of manuscripts, the eclectic approach, on the other hand, poses other significant theoretical problems. In order to create a readable text, editors of eclectic editions choose one or two good manuscripts that they use to establish the base text, and subsequently emend this text in the difficult or problematic points that it may present ope 31 Alessandro Mengozzi, ‘Past and Present Trends in the Edition of Classical Syriac Texts’, in Alessandro Bausi (ed.), Comparative Oriental Manuscript Studies. An Introduction (Hamburg, 2015), 435-9. 32 Namely as a faithful reproduction of the text in its historical form attested on a manuscript.

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codicum, namely by supplying alternative readings taken from other manuscripts that, on those specific points, present a clearer reading, thus producing what in classical philology is called contamination. This methodology is problematic because the result of such work is the product of a modern editor whose operation is more creative than reconstructive, and consequently it is potentially misleading for whomever will use the edition as textual technology to access the work in its historical form. A historian who uses the critical edition of Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book to, say, write a history of Syriac mysticism, may be misled to draw conclusions that do not reflect historical data, as the critical text produced through the emendatio ope codicum may have never existed in the past. For a text like Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book, Lachmannian stemmatics appear problematic as well. The aim of this methodology is to produce a critical text which approximates as much as possible to the archetype, a nebulous concept that has been interpreted in multiple ways in the history of philology. Some scholars interpret the archetype as the form of the text embodying the last will of the author. In this case, the Lachmannian method would make no sense for our Book, since the textual variation that it presents is inconsistent with a single archetype, but rather points back to a multiplicity of agents and editorial stages. More often though, the archetype that the Lachmannian philologist tries to rebuild is the earliest origin of the branch from which the existing manuscript tradition derives. Such methodology can indeed be applied to our text, yet the usefulness of such operation is unclear. This editorial process would recreate a text that is a snapshot of one of the phases of the editorial history of the Book. Such phase of the text would be impossible to date: we could only know that it is whether contemporary or older than the manuscripts that carry it. The text thus produced appears as a step backwards compared to a diplomatic edition of any of the surviving manuscripts which contain a colophon. Any manuscript in fact represents a snapshot of the evolving tradition of the text, but unlike the text resulting from the Lachmannian edition, the text of most manuscripts can be situated chronologically and geographically through the colophon. It follows that although the Lachmannian methodology has the benefit of providing an evaluation of the entirety of the extant textual evidence, in the case of a text that has a weak authorship and lacks a clear and identifiable origin like PseudoHierotheos’ Book, it appears of little use. I would like to suggest that a text like Pseudo-Hierotheos’ Book is best served by an edition that aims to map the variance of the text through time, rather than to attempt to rebuild the textual archetype or to simply provide a snapshot of one of the stages of the editorial history of the text. This map would resemble a Lachmannian edition, with a main text and a critical apparatus. The body of the text will contain a diplomatic transcription of the best manuscript which contains a colophon that situates it clearly in a precise historical and geographical context. This way whoever uses the text to make historical claims

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will be able to ground their arguments in a text in its historical form and not in a modern abstraction. The apparatus, on the other hand, will contain all the variae lectiones (including those that in traditional Lachmannian philology are considered adiaphorous and would consequently be excluded from the apparatus) found in the various manuscripts that witness the text, so as to provide the reader with a map that tracks the variance – linguistical, orthographic, lexical, of content – of the text in different times and locations. The value of an edition thus composed lies in its capacity to provide the most updated and complex image of the recensio. Such textual technology would represent an invaluable interpretive tool, as it would grant readers access to an ordered and rigorous record of the textual data, thus enabling them to read the text in the historical and literary complexity of its editorial life.

Pauline Echoes in Isaac of Nineveh (7th Century): An Initial Investigation Valentina DUCA, Leuven, Belgium

ABSTRACT In the 7th-8th century, within the East Syriac church, a remarkable flourishing of literature on the inner life occurred. Written in Syriac, an Eastern form of Aramaic, this literature developed at the time of the rise of Islam, within a form of Christianity which was regarded as heretical by the Western and Eastern Orthodox churches, due to its acceptance of Nestorius’ thought. Among the 7th-8th century writers on the inner life, who were all solitary monks, Isaac of Nineveh (7th century) is the best-known. This article aims to examine some essential intuitions of Isaac, showing that these were profoundly marked by his reading of the corpus of letters attributed to Paul of Tarsus. Isaac’s original understanding of the encounter with ‘the negative’ (all experiences of contradiction, limitation, frustration, trial, and negation) as virtually positive; his insistence on its transformative value for one’s inner growth; the role of God’s ‘Power’, that Isaac interprets as being the Holy Spirit, as the agent of this transformation; and his understanding of the issue of justification and the role of the ‘law’, with his emphasis on the absolute priority of grace, are all deeply reminiscent of Paul’s reflections. Also, Isaac’s understanding of creatural ‘weakness’, faith, and of ‘becoming crucified’ echoes Pauline insights. The article will shed light on Isaac’s specific way of reading these insights, demonstrating how he originally reworks them in light of his stress on the value of the ascetic life and the experience of ‘the inner’, while remaining, at the same time, profoundly loyal to the original meaning of the Pauline texts. The article, therefore, through pointing to Isaac’s profound engagement with Paul, aims to stimulate further research, which should also be based on an examination of Isaac’s sources – ‘Macarius’ (late 4th/early 5th century), John the Solitary (5th century), and Evagrius (345-399), but also Theodore of Mopsuestia (350-428) and the monastic literature of the Egyptian desert. This might begin to shed light on Paul’s reception history in an understudied and rich literature – the East-Syriac reflection of the inner life – in which Pauline intuitions were central.

Paul of Tarsus is a key figure in Western culture. Some of the most original thinkers of the West – from Augustine to Luther, from Barth to the young Heidegger1 – were profoundly marked by their reading of the Pauline corpus. The Reformed and Catholic understanding of grace, faith, and justification, 1 Martin Heidegger, The Phenomenology of Religious Life, Studies in Continental Thought (Bloomington, 2004).

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which played a major role in Western intellectual history, are also highly dependent on the interpretation of Paul.2 In the Syriac tradition, however, Paul’s role remains only marginally explored.3 This article examines the reception of certain crucial Pauline ideas in Isaac of Nineveh.4 Living in the 7th-century Persian Empire, at the time of the rise of Islam, and belonging to the East-Syriac church, which embraced Dyophysitism as its official orthodoxy, Isaac exerted an influence on all subsequent Eastern Christian thought.5 A solitary monk and the most significant representative of 7th-8th-century Persian ascetic thought, or mysticism,6 Isaac was profoundly influenced by the reading of the Pauline corpus. Isaac’s engagement with Paul is deep and non-accidental. One might even say that his most essential intuitions were formulated within a process of appropriation of Pauline insights, that he read as material essential for the structuring of the life of ‘the inner’, in light of a sophisticated synthesis between diverse influences: the ‘noetic’ Evagrian approach to interiority7 and Pseudo2 ‘Paul’, here, should be understood as the corpus of 14 letters (including the Letter to the Hebrews) attributed to Paul of Tarsus in the Greco-Roman context as well as in the Syriac version of the Bible (Peshitta). 3 See the publication listed in Sergey Minov (ed.), ‘Paul’, in A Comprehensive Bibliography on Syriac Christianity, The Center for the Study of Christianity, Hebrew University, Jerusalem (online searchable bibliography). 4 As an introduction to Isaac, see Hilarion Alfeyev, The Spiritual World of Isaac the Syrian (Kalamazoo, MI, 2000); Sabino Chialà, Dall’ascesi eremitica alla misericordia infinita. Ricerche su Isacco di Ninive e la sua fortuna (Florence, 2002); Sebastian Brock, ‘Isaac the Syrian’, in Carmelo G. Conticello (ed.), La théologie byzantine et sa tradition. Tome I/1 (Turnhout, 2015), 327-72. See also Patrick Hagman, The Asceticism of Isaac of Nineveh, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2010); Nestor Kavvadas, Isaak von Ninive und seine Kephalaia Gnostika: Die Pneumatologie und ihr Kontext, Suppl. Vigiliae Christianae 128 (Leiden, Boston, 2015); Jason Scully, Isaac of Nineveh’s Ascetical Eschatology, Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford, 2017); Valentin Vesa, Knowledge and Experience in the Writings of St. Isaac of Nineveh, Gorgias Eastern Christian Studies 51 (Piscataway, NJ, 2018). 5 This influence also extended beyond monastic circles. Famous is the case of Dostoevsky, who drew inspiration from Isaac when writing his Brothers Karamazov. See Simonetta Salvestroni, ‘Isaac of Nineveh and Dostoyevsky’s Work’, in Metr. Hilarion Alfeyev (ed.), Saint Isaac the Syrian and His Spiritual Legacy (Yonkers, NY, 2015), 249-58. 6 On the term ‘mysticism’ applied to this movement, see Matthieu Cassin, ‘Mystique: réflexions à partir de quelques auteurs grecs’, in Alain Desreumaux (ed.), Les mystiques syriaques, Études syriaques 8 (Paris, 2011), 9-22. Other representatives of this movement were Simon of Ṭaybuteh, Dadišo‘ Qaṭraya (7th cent.), John of Dalyatha and Joseph Ḥazzaya (8th cent.). 7 Evagrius Ponticus (345-399), disciple of the Cappadocians and later of Macarius the Egyptian and Macarius the Alexandrian, wrote in Greek on askesis and contemplation. He was soon translated into Syriac, becoming an essential reference for this tradition. Due to the Fifth Ecumenical Council’s condemnation of (a supposed form of) Origenism in 553, many of his works in Greek were lost, while other survived under different names. In Syriac, several of his works survived under his name (especially the two versions of his Kephalaia Gnostika). For a detailed bibliography on Evagrius, see http://evagriusponticus.net, by Joel Kalvesmaki. On his influence on the Syriac tradition, see Antoine Guillaumont, Les ‘Képhalaia Gnostica’ d’Évagre le Pontique et l’histoire de l’Origénisme chez les Grecs et chez les Syriens, Patristica Sorboniensia 5 (Paris, 1962).

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Macarius’8 stress on perception;9 the East-Syriac theological schools’ focus on Theodore of Mopsuestia’s10 exegesis11 and the monastic tradition arising from Abraham of Kaškar’s12 reform, with its strong accent on Evagrius’ ascetic thought and the literature of the Egyptian desert;13 works translated from Greek and authors writing in Syriac – especially the 5th-century John the Solitary, whose identity is disputed, but whose impact on Isaac is certain.14 Isaac read Paul, not as a professional exegete, but as a tool for interpreting the human quest for God, which is his writings’ focus. Addressed to fellow solitaries and including discourses, questions and answers, and dense gnomic sentences – the Centuries –, these15 outline a detailed phenomenology of the experience of interiority, of which Paul, for Isaac, was an initiate. 8 An anonymous spiritual writer from Mesopotamia or Asia Minor (late 4th/early 5th century), who wrote in Greek. The Syriac version of his writings influenced all 7th- and 8th-century East Syriac mystics: see Robert Beulay, La lumière sans forme. Introduction à l’étude de la mystique chrétienne syro-orientale (Chevetogne, 1987), 35-94. Although based on the Greek, the Syriac version differs from the original, and includes writings not only of Pseudo-Macarius, but also of other provenance. See Die Syrische Überlieferung der Schriften des Makarios, ed. Werner Strothmann, Göttinger Orientforschungen, I. Reihe: Syriaca, 21.1-2, 2 vol. (Wiesbaden, 1981). 9 See Irenée Hausherr, ‘Les grands courants de la spiritualité orientale’, OCP 1 (1935), 114-38; Antonio Rigo, ‘La spiritualità bizantina e le sue scuole nell’opera di Irénée Hausherr’, OCP 70 (2004), 197-216, 209-16. 10 Theodore (350-428), the main representative of the Antiochian ‘school’ of theology and exegesis, characterized by a stress on the literal meaning of Scripture and on Christ’s humanity, was posthumously condemned by the Fifth Ecumenical Council (553). He is an essential reference in the East-Syriac church. 11 On the East-Syriac exegetical schools, see Paolo Bettiolo, ‘Scuole e ambienti intellettuali nelle chiese di Siria’, in Cristina D’Ancona (ed.), Storia della filosofía nell’Islam medievale Vol. 1 (Turin, 2005), 48-100; Adam H. Becker, Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and the Development of Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia, Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion (Philadelphia, 2006). For Theodore’s influence on Isaac, see S. Chialà, Dall’ascesi (2002), 92-101; Nestor Kavvadas, ‘Some Observations on the Theological Anthropology of Isaac of Nineveh and its Sources’, Scrinium 4 (2008), 147-57. 12 An important 6th-century East-Syriac reformer of the monastic life. See Sabino Chialà, Abramo di Kashkar e la sua comunità. La rinascita del monachesimo siro-orientale (Magnano, 2005); Florence Jullien, Le monachisme en Perse: la réforme d’Abraham le Grand, père des moines de l’Orient, CSCO 622, Subs. 121 (Leuven, 2008). 13 See Sabino Chialà, ‘Les mystiques syro-orientaux: une école ou une époque?’, in A. Desreumaux (ed.), Les mystiques syriaques (2011), 63-78. 14 As an introduction to John, see René Lavenant, ‘Le problème de Jean d’Apamée’, OCP 46 (1980), 367-90; for John’s influence on Isaac, see Élie Khalifé-Hachem, ‘La prière pure et la prière spirituelle selon Isaac de Ninive’, in François Graffin (ed.), Mémorial Mgr Gabriel Khouri-Sarkis (1898–1968), fondateur et directeur de L’Orient Syrien, 1956–1967 (Louvain, 1969), 157-73; S. Chialà, Dall’ascesi (2002), 109-13; J. Scully, Isaac of Nineveh (2017), 48-72. For John’s influence on East-Syriac mysticism, see R. Beulay, La lumière (1987), 95-125; Sebastian Brock, ‘Some Paths to Perfection in the Syriac Fathers’, SP 51 (2011), 77-94. 15 At present, we have three ‘parts’ (ÀÎÆáòmeans a ‘part’ in Syriac, and this is how the manuscript tradition labels the ‘collections’ of Isaac’s writings) of Isaac’s writings which are considered authentic. Isaac’s First and Third Part have been edited in full, while the Second Part has been only partially edited (the Centuries of Knowledge, included in this ‘part’, and the first

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Paul, the Initiate The first issue to examine in order to understand Isaac’s approach to the Pauline corpus is his conception of Paul’s figure, especially in relation to the ascetic path. Isaac’s approach to Scripture, in fact, is a ‘sapiential’ and ‘practical’ one, that values the meaning of Scripture for existence – an existence marked by suffering, death, and finitude, to which the path of askesis endeavours to formulate an answer.16 Paul, in this perspective, is conceived as a guide on this path, who knows its intricacies by experience, and speaks, therefore, reliable words. The ascetic life, in Isaac, is understood as an attempt to face and ‘inhabit’17 the problem of existence: one’s creatural subjection to suffering, death, and the passions (e.g. envy, vainglory, pride),18 the movements that distance from God, which Isaac conceives as defensive reactions against the experience of one’s finitude.19 Askesis, for him, is a transformative process within which the problem of existence can be deciphered. Although Isaac’s aim cannot be defined as strictly ‘philosophical’, Pierre Hadot’s understanding of ancient philosophy20 as a ‘way of life’ can shed two discourses remain unedited). For the First Part, see Mar Isaacus Ninivita. De Perfectione Religiosa, ed. Paul Bedjan (Paris, Leipzig, 1909), hereafter I. For the edited portion (discourses 4-41) of the Second Part, discovered in 1983 by Sebastian Brock (manuscript syr. e 7, Bodleian Library, Oxford), see Isaac of Nineveh (Isaac the Syrian). ‘The Second Part’, Chapters IV–XLI, CSCO 554-5, Syr. 224-5, ed. Sebastian Brock (Louvain, 1995), hereafter II. For an English translation of the first two discourses, see ‘St Isaac the Syrian: Two Unpublished Texts’, trans. Sebastian Brock, Sobornost 19 (1997), 7-33. For a partial English translation of the Centuries, see Grigory Kessel, ‘Isaac of Nineveh’s Chapters on Knowledge’, in Mario Kozah, Abdulrahim AbuHusayn, Saif S. Al-Murikhi and Haya Al Thani (eds), An Anthology of Syriac Writers from Qatar in the Seventh Century, Gorgias Eastern Christian Studies 39 (Piscataway, NJ, 2015), 253-80; also see the first translation of this material, in Italian: Isacco di Ninive. Discorsi spirituali, transl. Paolo Bettiolo (Magnano, 1990). For the Third Part, see Isacco di Ninive. Terza Collezione, CSCO 637-8; Syr. 246-7, ed. Sabino Chialà (Leuven, 2011), hereafter III. All of the translations of Isaac’s passages are mine. 16 On the role of suffering and finitude in Isaac, see my doctoral thesis ‘Exploring Finitude’: Weakness and Integrity in Isaac of Nineveh (University of Oxford, 2019). A monograph based on this study is forthcoming in the Bibliothèque de Byzantion, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta (Leuven). 17 I borrow this term from the work of Maria Maddalena Pessina, Simbolo, affetto e oltre… (Milan, 2004), 28. Pessina describes an attitude that appears to exhibit similarities with that which Isaac conceives as lying at the centre of the process of askesis: remaining in contact with ‘the negative’ without fleeing from it, ‘bearing’ its weight. I have examined this issue in my doctoral research (see especially V. Duca, ‘Exploring Finitude’ [2019], 229-39). The context of Pessina’s usage of the term ‘inhabit’ is her reading of these, which she identifies as essential elements of Jung’s approach to the psychoanalytic process of therapy. 18 On the concept of the passions, see Asmé Solignac, ‘Passions et vie spirituelle’, Dictionnaire de Spiritualité 12.1 (Paris, 1984), 339-57. 19 See V. Duca, ‘Exploring Finitude’ (2019), 49-59. 20 Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life (Malden, MA, Oxford, Melbourne, Berlin, 1995).

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light on Isaac’s perspective: like Hadot’s philosophers, Isaac is not primarily interested in conceptualisation, but in a ‘learning to live’ aimed at transforming the self. The solitary life, for him, is in fact a matter of ‘practice’ (¿çÑàÎò, pulḥānā; the Evagrian πρακτική), the difficult path of askesis which alone could lead to ‘theoria’ (¿Ù{s, tē᾿ōrīyā, the Evagrian γνωστική), contemplation, or the experience of God, which occurs through the Spirit.21 ‘Practice’ consists not merely of ascetic exercises, but of a demanding process of transformation of the ‘inner’, through struggling with the ‘passions’, which obfuscate the noetic sight of the soul.22 Scripture, in this light, is conceived as a guide to the creature’s process of transformation, rather than (merely) a source of intellectual or ethical wisdom.23 In this perspective, the Biblical author is conceived as the authoritative source of writings that are transformative in nature. According to this understanding of Scripture, Paul, in Isaac, is regarded as a densely symbolic figure, an initiate to the mysteries of the Spirit whose eyes were not obfuscated by the ‘dense substances’24 of the passions. Isaac writes, for instance, in Century IV 89: ‘[God] granted to the sharers of the mysteries of truth […] to understand the aim of Scripture, and the order and reason of God’s dispensations […]. [He granted this to people] like the blessed Paul and the rest of his disciples after him who, through the Spirit, received insights and [the capacity to] interpret [Scripture]’;25 and, in his Century IV 18: ‘The blessed Paul wrote much on spiritual realities, but a person cannot perceive from his letters the things he tasted, unless he has been made a partaker of the Spirit’.26 Paul, in fact, knew God’s ‘love’, which is the mystery of the Spirit: ‘Eden is the love of God […], where the blessed Paul was nourished with the food which [does] not [belong] to [human] nature. After he had tasted the tree of life which [is] there, he cried out and said: “The eye has not seen and the ear has not heard, neither have mounted to the human heart that which God has

21 On the role of the Spirit in Isaac, see N. Kavvadas, Isaak von Ninive (2015); Serafim Seppälä, ‘The Holy Spirit in Isaac of Nineveh and East Syrian Mysticism’, in D. Vincent Twomey and Janet E. Rutherford (eds), The Holy Spirit in the Fathers of the Church: The Proceedings of the Seventh International Patristic Conference, Maynooth, 2008 (Dublin, 2010), 127-50. 22 See I 67 472: ‘While natures are things which are intermediate, distinguishable for vision by the light [of the mind], passions are like dense substances which, when placed between the light and that which is seen, prevent it from discerning things’. 23 On the role of Scripture in the Syriac tradition, see Sabino Chialà, La perla dai molti riflessi. La lettura della Scrittura nei padri siriaci (Magnano, 2014). In particular, see the analysis of Dadišo‘’ hermeneutics of Scripture (122-8), which was first examined by Paolo Bettiolo in his ‘Esegesi e purezza di cuore. La testimonianza di Dadišo’ Qaṭraya (VII sec.), nestoriano e solitario’, Annali di storia dell’esegesi 3 (1986), 201-13. 24 See I 67 472. 25 107r. 26 64v-65r.

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prepared for those who love him (see 1Cor. 2:9)”. Adam was deprived of this tree through the accuser’s counsel. The tree of life is the love of God’.27 Which teachings, however, derive from Paul’s knowledge of the Spirit’s mysteries? The preliminary analysis below will focus on only four Pauline insights that Isaac re-elaborates, thereby laying the foundations for further study: the theme of ‘the negative’; its transformative value; the role of God’s ‘power’, that Isaac interprets as being the Holy Spirit; and the issue of justification. Through analysing these themes, we may begin to reconstruct Isaac’s specific hermeneutics of Paul. ‘The Negative’ as a Positive, Revealing Experience The first area of Isaac’s reflection where a strong Pauline influence is visible concerns his discussion of what I define here as ‘the negative’, i.e. all experiences of contradiction, limitation, frustration, trial, and negation, which the subject encounters in life, especially in the ascetic life. The theme is central in Isaac, and intimately related to suffering and finitude. In particular, it is strongly connected to Isaac’s discussion of ÀÎáÚÑã (mḥilutā), ‘weakness’, another Pauline theme (the Greek ἀσθενεία, À{ÍÙüÝ in the Peshitta; see 2Cor. 12:7-10) that is crucial in his reflection. I will not focus extensively on ‘weakness’, here, having already discussed this elsewhere,28 but it is noteworthy that ‘weakness’, in Isaac, denotes an ontological rather than a psychological state: it is the creatural condition of exposure to suffering and death, intimately related to the mere fact of being a human.29 This ontological interpretation of ‘weakness’ plays an essential role in Isaac’s thought, because experiencing a ‘weakness’ so understood allows one to take charge of oneself as a creature and, as a consequence, to see the alterity of God, becoming capable of a dialogue with him. Isaac conceives of the experience of ‘the negative’ as a means of gaining contact with this ‘weakness’. When experienced thus, for Isaac, ‘the negative’ has a positive value. Behind this original intuition of Isaac – the positive value of ‘the negative’ – stands Paul who, in 2Cor. 12:7-10, while discussing his understanding of ‘weakness’, speaks of a ‘thorn’ that ‘buffets’ him, a ‘thorn’ that is ‘a messenger from Satan’ but, on the other hand, ultimately originates from the God of grace: ‘So that I might not boast for the abundance of the revelations, a thorn was given me in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to buffet me so that I might not 27

I 43 316. See V. Duca, ‘Exploring Finitude’ (2019), 181-254; ead., ‘Human Frailty and Vulnerability in Isaac the Syrian’, SP 74 (2016), 229-38; ead., ‘Human Weakness: Isaac of Nineveh and the Syriac Macarian Corpus’, Aramaic Studies 14 (2016), 134-46. 29 Isaac describes ‘weakness’ as the common condition of ‘the weak rank of human beings ? (¿þçÚçÂx ¿ćáÚÑã ¿ćäŏ)’ in III 7,6 46 (Syr.); 70 (IT); or as a characteristic of ¿çÚÝ, (human) nature, in I 3 37; I 6 81; I 61 428; III 7,26 50 (Syr.); 76 (IT). 28

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be exalted. Concerning this, I asked the Lord three times, that it might depart from me, but he said to me, “My Grace is sufficient for you, for my power is accomplished in weakness (À{ÍÙüÝ)”’30. In his First Collection, Isaac likens Paul’s ‘thorn’ to ‘the experience of a myriad of evils that God allowed to be among [the solitaries]’,31 or to the ‘trials’ which occur ‘because of the subtlety and incomprehensibility of those things which continuously fall upon us, which defy the power of our knowledge’.32 This experience of ‘the negative’, according to Isaac, forces one to contact one’s creatural condition of ‘weakness’, awakening one to oneself and the quest for truth. For this reason, Isaac refers to trials as ‘gifts’ and, also in this regard, mentions Paul: ‘[Paul] openly calls a gift the fact that a person might be prepared to suffer for the sake of God’s hope, in faith, when he says: “it has been given to you by God not only to believe in Christ, but also to suffer for his sake (see Phil. 1:29)”’,33 before immediately clarifying: ‘The door to heaven is opened before the soul by means of trials’.34 In this sense, as for Paul, ‘evils’ come ‘from God’: they have a meaning and exist for a reason. Isaac’s idea of a ‘negative’ that can be paradoxically positive and revealing, and of a God that is the origin of all, both positive and negative, is firmly rooted in Pauline insights. When experienced in this perspective, the encounter with ‘the negative’ can become a way towards transformation, which is a second element that Isaac interprets in the light of Paul. The transformative Value of ‘the Negative’ The ‘negative’, when experienced in a certain way, i.e. ‘bearing’ the contact with it35 instead of fleeing from this, can provide – here Isaac speaks of tears36 – ‘a mysterious passage (ÀĀÚæ|s ÀüÃðã)’ into ‘peace of thoughts’ and, through it, into ‘the divine rest of which Paul spoke’.37 Isaac conceptualises the way to this passage as ‘becoming crucified’, and the background, here, is again Paul: ‘I have been crucified with Christ, and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me (Gal. 2:20)’. The encounter with ‘the negative’, in fact, in Isaac, is not merely a matter of experiencing difficulties, but, 30

2Cor. 12:7-9a. I 61 428. 32 I 73 503. 33 I 59 417. 34 I 59 418. 35 On ‘bearing’ in Isaac, see V. Duca, ‘Exploring Finitude’ (2019), 229-39. 36 Tears, in Isaac, the mark that one is entering the contemplative stage. On this theme, see Hannah Hunt, Joy-Bearing Grief: Tears of Contrition in the Writings of the Early Syrian and Byzantine Fathers, The Medieval Mediterranean 57 (Leiden, Boston, 2004), 129-68; David Lichter, ‘Tears and Contemplation in Isaac of Nineveh’, Diakonia 11 (1976), 239-58; Paul Mascia, ‘The Gift of Tears in Isaac of Nineveh’, Diakonia 14 (1979), 255-65. 37 I 14 126. 31

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more radically, utter frustration and negation, of which the cross is the symbol. Isaac speaks, therefore, of a threefold ‘mortification (À{ĀÚã)’ – of the body,38 of the soul,39 and of the spirit40 – and of ‘crucifixion (ÀÎóÚù| ,ÀÎÃÚà‹)’, reading Paul’s idea of ‘becoming crucified’ in light of composite influences that discuss the life of askesis: John the Solitary, Abba Isaiah,41 and Evagrius. The threefold ‘mortification’ recalls John the Solitary’s thought, who conceives of the spiritual life as being divided into three stages, ‘of the body’, ‘of the soul’, and ‘of the Spirit’, ÀÎæüÆò(pagrānutā), ÀÎçþóæ(napšānutā), and ÀÎçÐ{(ruḥānutā), taking inspiration from 1Thess. 5:23. The ‘mortification’ of the body, in Isaac, concerns physical askesis, and that of the soul, the abandoning of ‘earthly desires’. The ‘mortification of the spirit’, instead, denotes the passage into the highest contemplative condition through an ‘operation’ of the Holy Spirit (¿ýxÎùx ¿Ð{x ÀÎæËÃðã),42 by grace, and coincides with what Isaac also calls the ‘crucifixion of the intellect (¿æ{zxÀÎÃÚà‹)’, a concept drawn from Abba Isaiah.43 Isaac welds this concept with the Evagrian idea of the ‘naked intellect (¿ÚáÓüï ¿æ{z)’,44 which implies the stripping of all conceptions and thoughts, that marks one’s access to contemplation and, in Isaac, the entrance into the realm of the Spirit, in ‘wonder’.45 Thus, Isaac writes: ‘Make me worthy to be raised above the voluntary gazing which brings forth phantasies, and to gaze at you in the coercion of the bonds of the cross, in […] the crucifixion of the intellect, in which freedom ceases from exercising its stirrings, through the continuous, non-natural gazing towards you’.46 Isaac, therefore, interprets the Pauline insights on the value of ‘the negative’ using these to decipher the making of the experience of ‘the inner’, which takes place in a life of askesis. This leads him to attribute to Pauline concepts new connotations, connected to contemplation, which he relates to the mysterious ‘operation’ of the Spirit. It is of the Spirit, then, that I shall now speak. 38

Centuries I 85 32r-32v. Centuries I 87 32v-33r. 40 Centuries I 89 33r-33v, 33r. 41 Greek monastic writer of uncertain identity (5th century); author of the Asceticon (CPG 5555). 42 See e.g. Centuries II 14 36v-37r, 37r. 43 See S. Brock, Isaac of Nineveh, CSCO 555, footnote 1, 135; Ysabel De Andia, ‘Hesychia et contemplation chez Isaac le Syrien’, Collectanea Cisterciensia 53 (1991), 20-48, 28-34. For Abba Isaiah, see Les cinq recensions de l’ascéticon syriaque d’abba Isaië, ed. René Draguet, CSCO 28990, 293-4, Syr. 120-3 (Louvain, 1968), Logos XXVI 4, CSCO 290, 405 (Syr.); CSCO 294, 451 (FT). 44 See, e.g. Les six Centuries des ‘Kephalaia gnostica’ d’Évagre le Pontique, ed. Antoine Guillaumont, PO 28.1 (Paris, 1958), III 6, 100 (S1). In Isaac, see e.g. Centuries I 37 26r. 45 On this concept in Isaac, see H. Alfeyev, The Spiritual World (2000), 241-8; also see Serafim Seppälä, ‘In Speechless Ecstasy’: Expression and Interpretation of Mystical Experience in Classical Syriac and Sufi Literature, Publications of the Institute for Asian and African Studies 2 (Helsinki, 2003), 81-90. 46 I 34 223. 39

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The ‘Power’ of God In his corpus, Isaac often discusses the alternations between the experience of one’s ‘weakness (ÀÎáÚÑã, mḥilutā)’ and that of God’s ‘Power (¿ćáÚÐ, ḥaylā)’. This idea is also rooted in Paul’s reflection. Paul, in fact, in his Second Letter to the Corinthians, mentions God’s ‘power’ that is ‘accomplished’ in ‘weakness’, adding: ‘Gladly, therefore, I will boast in my infirmities, so that the power of Christ (¿ÑÚþãx ¿ćáÚÐ) may overshadow (èÆæ) me. Because of this, I am pleased with infirmities, insults, afflictions, persecutions and imprisonment, for the sake of Christ, for when I am weak (ÍÙüÝ), then I am strong (…ĀáÚÐ)’.47 It is striking that, for Isaac, this ‘power’ does not allude to God’s strength in general (¿ćáÚÐ, ḥaylā, in Syriac means both ‘power’ and ‘strength’), but is the Holy Spirit – something that Paul does not state. God’s strength, already transformative in Paul, becomes in Isaac ‘the Power of the World to come’,48 ‘the Power of the Spirit’.49 Isaac’s interpretation of the Pauline ‘power’ manifested in ‘weakness’ as the Holy Spirit is favoured by the interaction of multiple elements within his thought. First, the Syriac version of Paul uses the verb èÅs, ‘to overshadow/dwell in’, in the passage from 2Cor. quoted above, which allows Isaac to link this passage to Luke 1:35, which alludes to Mary conceiving by the Spirit, rendered, in the Peshitta, ‘the Power of the Most High will overshadow (èÅs// ἐπισκιάσει) you’ – an important passage for Isaac, as Brock remarked.50 Secondly, in 1Thess. 1:5, in the Syriac version, Paul states that his gospel did not reach the Thessalonians ‘in words alone’, but ‘in power (¿ćáÚÑÂ// ἐν δυνάμει), in the Holy Spirit (¿ýxÎùx¿Ð{ü // ἐν Πνεύματι Ἁγίῳ), and in true persuasion (ÁüÙüý¿êÚó // πληροφορίᾳ πολλῇ)’. Lastly, Isaac reads these suggestions in light of the Syriac Pseudo-Macarian corpus (the letter ‘Ad filios Dei’, which might truly bear traces of Macarius the Egyptian’s thought) where the ‘Holy Power’ is identified with the Paraclete,51 which sustains the ‘weakened heart’ 47 2Cor. 12:9b-10. The concept of God’s ‘power’ is found also elsewhere in Paul: see 2Cor. 6:7; 13:4; 1Cor. 1:27-2:5; 4:20; 1Thess. 1:5; Eph. 6:10; Phil. 3:21. 48 II 13,2 55 (Syr.); 65 (ET). See Heb. 6:5. 49 Centuries II 53 47v. 50 See Sebastian Brock, ‘Maggnânûtâ: A Technical Term in East Syrian Spirituality and its Background’, in Mélanges Antoine Guillaumont. Contributions à l’étude des christianismes orientaux, Cahiers d’Orientalisme 20 (Genève, 1988), 121-9, 121-3. 51 Aeg. ep. 1,9-12 in Die Syrische Überlieferung, ed. W. Strothmann (1981), I 79-81 (Syr.); II 52-4 (GT): ‘If the heart is frightened by these things, so as to be weakened by the toils of these wars, then the merciful God sends to it a Holy Power (¿þÙËù¿ćáÚÐ) and he sustains the heart […]. Then, when the good God sees that the heart has been strengthened against the enemy, he takes away [his] Power from it from time to time, and permits that the enemies might be sent forth to fight against it […]. Just as a ship without rudders goes off course and strikes here and there, so also the heart, when is weakened and grows feeble through these things. [But] the good

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amidst trials. One can appreciate, through this brief excursus, the richness of the intellectual interactions that contributed towards shaping Isaac’s relationship with Paul. The ‘Power’ of God is ‘the gift of his Spirit’,52 that one reaches by ‘the grace of Christ’ alone.53 Another Pauline intuition shines through these words, to which I shall now turn.

Justification: Grace, Faith, and Works Often, in the Syriac version(s) of Evagrius’ Kephalaia Gnostika, the Greek ? word πρακτική is translated by the phrase ¿æËùÎòx ¿çÑàÎò, ‘practice of 54 the commandments’, an expression that Isaac also employs occasionally. Isaac interprets these commandments in the light of askesis: they are chastity, poverty, silence, etc.55 These ‘commandments’ of askesis, however, can remain at a level that Isaac calls ‘the exterior side of practice (¿çÑàÎò ÎÚáÅ)’,56 without touching the interiority of the person,57 in which light Isaac often refers to these employing the Pauline concept of ‘law’58 and of its ‘works’, drawing inspiration from Romans and Galatians.59 Chialà, the editor of Isaac’s Third ‘Part’, suggested that Isaac, in discourse 6 of this ‘collection’, seems to anticipate the language of the 16th-century Catholic-Protestant debate,60 stressing God’s grace’s priority over human ‘works’. This idea requires further study, but Romans and Galatians are clearly fundamental here: Isaac believes that the ‘laws’ and ‘rules’ of the ascetic life,61 as he calls these, do not justify one, because they cannot be followed without setbacks.62 Isaac synthesises his position in a pithy sentence: ‘Nobody among the righteous can make his way of life equal to that of the Kingdom’,63 adding: ‘Human nature God, who takes care of his creature, sends again [his] Holy Power, and He sustains his heart […] [placing it] under the yoke of the Paraclete’. 52 II 27,2 116 (Syr.); 127 (ET). 53 See II 30,10 98 (Syr.); 110 (ET). 54 Antoine Guillaumont, ‘Les versions syriaques de l’œuvre d’Évagre le Pontique et leur rôle dans la formation du vocabulaire ascétique syriaque’, in René Lavenant (ed.), III° Symposium Syriacum, 1980: Les contacts du monde syriaque avec les autres cultures (Goslar 7–11 Septembre 1980), OCA 221 (Rome, 1983), 35-41, 38. 55 See e.g. I 3 38. 56 II 14,14 60 (Syr.); 70 (ET). 57 See II 14,24 63 (Syr.); 74 (ET). 58 See e.g. III 6,7 32 (Syr.); 51 (IT); II 17,3 81 (Syr.); 92 (ET). 59 Rom. 3:20-2; 4:13; Gal. 2:16. See also Eph. 2:8-9. 60 S. Chialà, Isacco di Ninive, CSCO 638, xvi. 61 See II 14,7 58 (Syr.); 68 (ET). 62 See III 6,8 32 (Syr.); 51 (IT); III 6,10 33 (Syr.); 52 (IT). 63 III 6,18 35 (Syr.); 55 (IT).

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cannot justify itself, because it is always in a state of poverty because of inclination,64 weakness, the body, difficulties, motions, and also what [comes] from the outside’.65 Only the ‘works’ of ‘faith’, Isaac states, justify: the ‘laws’ do not touch on ‘conscience (Às)’,66 which alone is capable of ‘faith’. What, then, is this ‘faith’ that justifies? Elsewhere, I have discussed the meaning of the concept of ‘faith’ in Isaac67. Faith is ÀÎçäÙz(haymānutā), rather than ÀĀÙx{(tawditā), i.e. a movement of entrustment rather than merely an intellectual adherence to doctrines. It is trust. Capable of ‘waiting’, this trust is the contemplative’s distinctive way of being, who relates to God’s mystery in a way other than the cognitive. In his Century II 59, in fact, Isaac writes: ‘Let us give the senses of our soul to the Spirit of God in simplicity of heart, avoiding holding any of the figures that the mind raises through composite thoughts, waiting in faith that the truth of his knowledge might rise in our hearts, as he [alone] knows’.68 Through this entrustment, which confesses God’s grace’s absolute priority in marking one’s entrance into contemplation, one can cross a threshold, and experience that which Isaac often calls the ‘consolation of faith (ÀÎçäÙzx À¾ÙÎÂ)’,69 alluding to the presence of the ‘Power’ of God, the Spirit.70 Isaac links to this experience another concept that is rooted in the Syriac version of Paul: that of ‘persuasion’, ¿êÚò(pyāsā) – the ‘persuasion of the mind (¿êÚò) of which Paul spoke (cf. Col. 2:2; 1Thess. 1:5; Heb. 11:1)’.71 The term ¿êÚò, in fact, is used in the Syriac version of Colossians; 1Thessalonians, and Hebrews. If, in Colossians and 1Thessalonians, it corresponds to πληροφορία, ‘full assurance/conviction’,72 in Hebrews, it translates the Greek ὑπόστασις, ‘substance/assurance’, so that the Greek sentence ‘faith is the substance of things hoped for’, in Syriac becomes ‘faith is the persuasion of 64

Antiochian concept which refers to the instability of the soul. III 6,23 36 (Syr.); 56 (IT). 66 See III 6,9 32 (Syr.); 51 (IT); III,6,11 33 (Syr.); 52 (IT). 67 V. Duca, ‘“A Light which rises by Grace (I 51)”: Faith, Trust, and Suffering in Isaac of Nineveh’ (forthcoming in the proceedings of the Symposium Syriacum, Rome, 2016, Orientalia Christiana Analecta); ead., ‘Exploring Finitude’ (2019), 257-85. 68 49r-49v, 49r. 69 See e.g. I 5 63, 65. 70 See I 77 526: ‘You will be made worthy of this (i.e. the ‘delight of faith’) if before you force yourself to cast your care upon God in faith and exchange your providing for his providing. Then, when he sees your will, that with complete limpidity of mind you entrusted yourself to God […] and you forced yourself to put your trust in God more than in your own self, then, that Power (¿ćáÚÐ), which is unknown to you, will overshadow (èÆã) you, and you will perceptibly feel the Power which is with you, without [any] doubt’. 71 Centuries I 38 26r. 72 The theme of plerophoria is central in Pseudo-Macarius, who connects it to the experience of the Spirit (see Vincent Desprez, ‘Plèrophoria. Le Pseudo-Macaire, Diadoque et Syméon le Nouveau Théologien’, Dictionnaire de Spiritualité 12.2 (Paris, 1986), 1819-21, 1819. A comparison of Isaac and Macarius’ views lies beyond the scope of this article, but might prove fruitful. 65

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things hoped for’. Isaac’s understanding of ‘persuasion’ as an inner, noncognitive certainty concerning one’s ‘faith’ is clearly related to this Syriac Pauline passage. The other essential term that Isaac relates to faith, ¿çáÝ{ (tuklānā), ‘trust’, is also used in the Syriac version of Paul: in Heb. 10:22, it reads πληροφορία πίστεως, which in Syriac becomes ÀÎçäÙzx¿çáÝ{.73 If they do not justify, however, what is ascetic practices’ value, that Isaac never denies? Here, also, his interpretation is Pauline in nature. Referring to Galatians, in fact, Isaac states that the ‘laws’ serve to protect the subject, on the path of askesis: ‘The divine laws and fair rules of your holy way of life are (lit.: let be) the guardians and stewards (cf. Gal. 4:2) which guide you in your condition of infancy, to lead you to the measure of the perfect man in Christ (cf. Eph. 4:13).’74 Above all, however, the ‘law’, exposing the creature to setbacks and failures, forces one to encounter ‘the negative’, whose essential function has been previously examined. In this regard, Isaac attributes to monastic ‘law’ a function recalling that of the Law of Moses in Paul. Paul writes, in fact: ‘Now, what should we say? Is the Law sinful? God forbid! But I did not learn [what] sin [is] except through the Law’;75 ‘The Law is spiritual, but I am corporeal […]. I don’t understand what I do. […] For I don’t do the good I want to do, but instead do the evil that I don’t want to do’.76 Just as the Law of Moses in Paul reveals sin and contradiction, the monastic observances, in Isaac, reveal contradictions and expose one to setbacks, forcing one to face one’s creatural condition. The experience of the ‘law’, in this way, awakes one’s inner labour as a subject, who can take this condition in charge. This revelation of one’s creatural limitation and this ‘activation’ produced by the ‘law’ opens the subject up to the different possibility of faith, that alone can acknowledge grace. Thus, the ‘law’ has a value, for Isaac. The ‘laborious difficulties’77 associated with contact with the ‘law’, in this perspective, are precisely what leads beyond it. Paul’s affirmation in Galatians: ‘Through the Law I died to the Law’,78 finds resonation in Isaac.

Conclusions Based on the above suggestions, we may now appreciate Isaac’s specific use of the Pauline material. Isaac re-interprets this material in light of the exigencies of askesis, projecting Paul’s insights into the life of the mind and using these 73 74 75 76 77 78

I 5 68; Centuries II 61 50v. II 4,6 2 (Syr.); 3 (ET). Rom. 7:7. Rom. 7:14; 15; 19. Centuries IV 45 91v. Isaac originally refers to the practice of fasting. Gal. 2:19.

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to decipher the experience of ‘the inner’. This creative re-working, however, remains deeply loyal to the original Pauline intuitions, which are re-elaborated, but not subverted. The fact that these intuitions – the value of ‘the negative’ and ‘weakness’, the transformative role of God’s ‘power’, and a distinctive interpretation of justification – play a crucial role in Isaac’s reflection, moreover, speaks of Isaac’s profound dialogue with Paul, which merits further study. This study, which should also be rooted in a close examination of the authors who influenced Isaac (John the Solitary, Evagrius, Macarius, but also Theodore and early monastic literature), might shed light on his specific Biblical hermeneutics and on new, essential aspects of his reflection. This will also advance our knowledge of Paul’s reception history in the Syriac ascetic literature – an understudied field in which Paul was, nevertheless, essential.

World and Body in the Writings of Isaac of Nineveh. Asceticism and Communication Valentin-Cosmin VESA, Babeș-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania

ABSTRACT Isaac of Nineveh, one of the most important Syriac authors, develops in his discourses a kind of guide of ascetical-mystical life that brings together two essential anthropological themes – body and world. During time, these two concepts underwent through difficult relations, from a gnostic extreme to an anthropocentric perspective. Nowadays this relation gets a plus of interest in the context of practice, adding also a religious connotation. In this frame, asceticism created a specific perspective during time of this relation, and nowadays may bring a specific attitude towards life, in general, a specific response to social, political and physical problems. Isaac of Nineveh is an ‘expert’ on ascetical life, with its both connotations – negative, as self-denial and renunciation, considered as formative, and positive, in terms of freedom, beauty and joy, described as functional, as attaining a spiritual higher state. The first part of this article focuses on the definition of body and world, as Isaac refers to, and the second section is dedicated to the ascetic forms and technics, as possible response to the social and existential problems – the functionality and the scope of ascetical life in the process of transforming the body and the world. This will enable us to get a world view, a personal way to interpret the world, the life, the other and the self. This last goal of this paper is to identify a possible role asceticism might have in the nowadays society, having as source Isaac of Nineveh’s discourses.

General aspects The first issue to deal with is connected to the place asceticism occupies in the contemporary theology and in the social mentality. There is quite a spread perspective that asceticism is not really biblical, but more of gnostic influence, and so one needs to purify Christian life of all malign and impure ascetical practices. This occurred because of its negative understanding during history, as hatred and disdain regarding the world. This idea goes along with the ideals of postmodernity in matter of world-view including the accentuated care for the body and the prolongation of biological life. When referring to this theme, both concepts – body and world – plunge in the core of the debate. In fact, the two issues represent the most important terms in reference to asceticism and they are oriented towards both individual and community.

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After a long time in the past, when the body was described in negative terms, especially in the western theology, colligated to the corruption and injustice of the world, nowadays there is an increasingly interest and a return of the argument in the core of discussion, theologically as well as anthropologically. Thus, there are two consequences that follow: what body is and which is its role in the personal life and the world as the context for daily life. This stage might be generated also by bringing in other social sciences of the realm of religion and praxis, in general. This time, the perspective is mostly positive while describing the body in terms of performance, transformation and evolution and the world as the space for limitless progress. The initial point to start with is the question if the body is simply a social construct or has it something given, objective, an a priori status. The ascetical theology seems to be able to lead us behind this disjunction by its continuous validated character, despite the specificities of the different writings/authors. There is an entire ascetical tradition where the body and the world come together and are conditioned one by the other. Isaac of Nineveh is one of the authors who dealt at large with this issue, being an ‘expert’ in matter of asceticism. His writings might be described as an ascetical itinerary while involving the entire person (body, soul, and spirit)1. He reveals in his discourses a very positive perspective and thus his message for the contemporary society becomes significant and useful in the reconfiguration of an anthropological perspective in the context of nowadays debates. This article will be divided into two sections. Firstly, I will try to define the two concepts in discussion – body and world – as described by Isaac of Nineveh. In the following section, I will try to make some connection between the two and the way they condition each other. Asceticism will occupy an important place in the discussion. Lastly, I will draw some general conclusions that might help the contemporary theology to offer an actualised and contextualised perspective and a specific vision upon life and world. 1. Body and world – challenges and approaches 1.1. Body and ascetic life When speaking about body, Isaac seems to have a positive attitude – ‘a high theology’,2 generated by the general idea that accompanies his entire perspective – everything is given for the best use of human. The Syriac terms used to express this concept are two: ÁüÆò(pagrā) and ¿ćäýÎÅ(gūshmā). If 1

See my book Cunoașterea lui Dumnezeu la Sfântul Isaac Sirul (Cluj-Napoca, 2011). Hannah Hunt, ‘Praying the body: Isaac of Nineveh and John of Apamea on Anthropological integrity’, The Harp 10 (1998-1999), 153-8, 158. 2

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John the Solitary, the most important mentor of Isaac, seems to make a distinction between the two terms – the second refers more to the physical body, the ‘place’ of ‘pagrā’, while the first one has a rather symbolical dimension3 – Isaac is not really systematic in stressing this nuance.4 Yet, one can find two parallel and complementary uses of the term while expressing its role in the ascetic life. To understand his anthropology it is useful to interpret it within the larger history of human and creation, in general. At the beginning, in Isaac’s vision, in the original state, everything was good, so the body – the physical body. It was meant for him to see the beauties of creation. The good was something natural (according to the order of the nature), what appeared bad afterwards is called accidental. Yet human was not perfect, but a child who was invited to become mature by progressing in the divine knowledge. Thus, physical body means, on one side, something useful and necessary in this progress – a symbol for ascetical life (asceticism as training), but also a symbol for passions coming from outside (body of passions), described in negative terms (asceticism as purification). I will give bellow some examples with different expressions Isaac uses following this double pattern. The first signification refers to the body as part of human formation and progress in the divine knowledge: corporal performance of excellence (I, 17/12)5; education of the body (I, 204/304)6; discipline of the body (I, 222/331)7; body labouring (I, 56/82; II, 7,2; III, 2,31; 4,32)8; exercise of the body (III, 9,1)9; examination of our body (I, 160/237).10 In the same line, Isaac values the body as part of the divine work of salvation, sovereign upon creation and its beneficiary: the body as a vessel of service for the Creator, a vessel of sanctity (III, 1,12)11, a hidden treasure within our body (III, 10,20)12, a natural body (II, 3.1,62)13, a lightness of the body (II, 3.2,86)14, a glorious body (II, 3.3,74)15. Despite this positive orientation of his ascetical theology, there are numerous expressions in his discourses describing the vulnerability of the body and the 3

Patrick Hagman, The Asceticism of Isaac of Nineveh (Oxford, 2011), 62. See I, 37,288; for English: Mystic Treatises by Isaac of Niniveh translated from Bedjan’s Syriac text with the introduction and registers by A.J. Wensinck (Wiesbaden, 1969) [abbreviated I]; for Syriac: Mar Isaacus Ninivita, De perfectione religiosa (Paris, Leipzig, 1909) [abbreviated B]. 5 ÁüÆòxzÎáÚÃŏÎÚáäþãxÀÎãxÍã. 6 ÁüÆòxzÎڍ. 7 ¿ÚæĄÆòÁĄÂ{x. 8 ÁüÆòx¿ćáäï. 9 ÁüÆòxÀ{Îðé. 10 ÁüÆòx €zÎÚúÃæ. 11 ÁxÎÃïxÀĀþäýx¿æ¾ćã…¿ýxÎùx¿æ¾ćã. 12 ‚ĀÚþÓßäýÎÆ‚ĀäÚé. 13 ¿ÚçÚÝÁüÆò. 14 ÁüÆòxzÎáÚáù. 15 ÍÑÂÎýxÁüÆò. 4

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need of purification that is liberation from the slavery of sin and the strengthening of its powers. Firstly he uses quite harsh terms to express the necessity to transform, to improve the state of the body: crucifying the body (I, 11,151, 160)16, fatiguing the body (I, 102; II, 3.2,80)17, mortification of the body (II, 3.1,85)18, fasting body (I, 161/239)19, purifying the body of material elements (I, 202/303)20. Then he brings arguments why it is necessary to purify the body, to make it more spiritual, more transparent to the divine. He lists different negative attributes so to describe the ‘body of passions’, in a kind of hierarchy, that needs to be purified and transformed: disturbance of the body (I, 144/214),21 weak nature (I, 170/253),22 idleness of the body (II, 3.3,34),23 lowliness of the body (II, 14,46),24 disorderliness of the body (III, 2,1),25 bound in the body/bonds of the body (I, 221/333),26 carnal passions in the body (I, 56/83),27 affections of the body (I, 17/25),28 dullness (I, 64/94),29 wretchedness (I, 26/37; III, 10,26),30 heaviness (I, 203/304),31 fatness (I, 13/18)32 of the body, illness/infirmity of the body (II, 5,27; II, 21,1; III, 13,23),33 impetuosity of the body (II, 31,5),34 ways of the body (III, 2,2),35 passions and desires of the body (II, 3.4,27; III: 8,2; 10,56),36 body as adversary (III, 10,58)37 and other different expressions. The body of passions stands against the natural human body and it has to be transformed in the physical body. Asceticism is the means to this transformation. This separation stands at the very basis of his vision – for him the body of passion is something negative and needs to be healed, but the physical body becomes the means of salvation and, in a state of transfiguration, it goes beyond 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

ÁüÆòxÀÎóÚù|. ‚üÆòâäïs. ÀĀÚæüÆòÀ{ĀÚã. ¿ćäً¿ćäýÎÅ. ? ÍÂx¿ćàÎÙzèã¿ÝËãÁüÆóà. ¿öÆòx¿ÚÐÎàx. ÍçÚÝxÀ{ÍÙüÝ. ÁüÆòx¿çáÔÂ. ÁüÆòx¿Â¿ÞÝÎã. ÁüÆòxzÎêÞÔã¿ćà. ÁüÆóÂxÁăÎés. ¿éüÞÂÁüÆòxÀĀō. ? ? ÀĀÚæüÆò¿þÐ. ÁüÆòxzüùÎÙ. ¿Ù{ÁüÆò. ¿ćäýÎÅxzÎÚÃï. ÁüÆòx¿ćäÔò. ? ÁüÆòx¿úêï. ¿ćäýÎÅx¿ò¾Ð. ? ÁüÆòx¿Úæ|. ? ÁüÆóÂx¿þпćáþæx¿Â‹. ÛçÙxâðÂ.

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death and earthly life. The life after resurrection presupposes the refusal of the body of passion and the sanctification of the physical body. In this line, asceticism is described in positive terms. It is not simply offensive and defensive against passions and the worldly mentality, but the image of progress in spiritual perfection along with the linear history of human evolution. The body is not despised because it is something bad, but it is understood in terms of lacking plenitude. Asceticism is the school of bettering the body’s form and manifestations. 1.2. World and ascetic life The concept of the body can be analysed only in connection with the ‘world’ (¿ćäáï).38 In fact, there is a strong correspondence between the two significations of the body and those of the world. Isaac speaks positively as well as negatively about what the world means. In the line of the pattern evoked above, he interprets the world, on one side, as ‘a system’ of training in what is good, and, on the other side he uses the term ‘world’ to express a mentality that takes the human body away from its natural way of being that is the life of sanctification. Along with Theodore of Mopsuestia’s vision on the historical soteriology, developed in the two catastasis, Isaac interprets the world as school of training for the future world. This presupposes to follow Christ, the perfect Man, and to become like Him. This process occurs in the Church and it finds its fulfilment in the life to come. This training consists in different ascetical practices that I will evoke later on. I will quote a fragment from the Second Collection, where Isaac describes the world in pedagogical terms: If God is truly father, he who has created everything out of grace; if the rational beings are sons, and this world is a sort of school,39 in which he instructs them in knowledge in their youths, and if the future world is their heritage, and there is a time when the youth become adults, then the Father will certainly change also the instruction into joy in the world of the adults, even if the young are in need of being corrected.40

This vision regarding the world is also supported by his theology of creation and Incarnation. Isaac interprets the visible world as ‘the first book41 given by 38 See in this line the title of the Latin translation of Isaac’s First Collection, ‘De contemptu mundi’. Occasionally Isaac uses also the term ¿ïs(earth) and its derivatives (earthly/ ÀĀÚäïs) with the same meaning. See for details Hilarion Alfeyev, The Spiritual World of Isaac the Syrian (Kalamazoo, MI, Spencer, MA, 2000), 35-60. 39 ¿çóàÎÙĀÚÂx¿êòÎÓ¿æzèÙx¿ćäáï. 40 II, 3.3,71; for the Second Collection [abbreviated II], see Isacco di Ninive, Discorsi spirituali: capitoli sulla conoscenza, preghiere, contemplazione, sull’argomento della gehenna, altri oposcoli (Comunità di Bose, 1990); Syriac – Isaac of Niniveh (Isaac the Syrian), The Second Part. Chapters IV-XLI, CSCO 224 (Leuven, 1995); translation – Isaac of Niniveh, The Second Part. Chapters IV-XLI, CSCO 225 (Leuven, 1995). 41 ¿ÚãËù¿ÂĀÝ.

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God to the rational beings. Written teachings have been added only after human’s falling’.42 Scripture itself seems to help especially those who are not able to spiritually understand the mysteries of God’s creation. Interesting and useful for our analysis is a fragment that Ibn as-Salt attributes to Isaac, while arguing the mediation role of nature for the divine knowledge: ‘All things were created to proclaim the glory of God and to sing his praise: intelligible beings were created to know God, and the unintelligible to make him known’.43 The same accent is present in the theology of Incarnation. Despite the fact that one can also identify an evidently ontological dimension of his soteriology, more present is the revelation of divine knowledge as its main purpose.44 One can identify from Isaac’s discourses that the reason for the existence of the world and the coming of Christ in the world are one and the same: the manifestation of God’s great love.45 When asked why did Christ incarnate, Isaac responds clearly without doubt – the only reason for incarnation is God’s will to be made known to people in a supreme act of love. I will quote a short paragraph where the author points to this idea: This is the ‘emptying’ spoken of in divine Scripture: the words he ‘emptied himself’ which Paul spoke of with unspeakable wonder, whose interpretation gives insight into the story of divine love. God loved all of creation to such an extent that creation is called ‘God’46…, and the name of the majesty of God becomes creation’s own.47

In another paragraph, while speaking about Christ’s crucifixion, Isaac advocates that the main reason for it is to reveal his love ‘more abundant than the sea’: ‘God did not do this for another reason (that) of revealing to the world the charity he has, so that we might be made prisoners of his charity’.48 The second meaning Isaac gives to the ‘world’ has a negative connotation and refers to different particularities. Patrick Hagman, in his extensive already evoked research, divides them in two domains and six categories. The first one is destined to the social realm and refers to distraction, relationships, politics/ power and luxuries. To the religious realm he ascribes world as temptation and the positive sense mentioned above, world as training ground.49 Asceticism, in particular in a monastic variant, is supported and justified starting from this 42 I, 5,42 (B, 61). By this methaphor, Isaac is tributary to the East Syriac tradition, in the line of Ephrem the Syrian, called ‘the saint of ecology’. See Mark Mourachian, ‘Hymns Against Heresies: Comments on St. Ephrem the Syrian’, Sophia 17 (2007) 2, 30-1. 43 Paul Sbath, Traités religieux, philosophiques et moraux, extraits des œuvres d’Isaac de Ninive (VIIe siècle), par Ibn as-Salt (IXe siècle) (Le Caire, 1934), 70-8, 108-10. 44 Hilarion Alefeyev calls it ‘soteriology from down to up’, of an Antiochene typical accent. See H. Alfeyev, The Spiritual World (2000), 57. 45 II, 3.4,79-80. 46 ÁüùÀÍàsÀĀÙüÂ. 47 III, 5,14-15 (Isacco di Ninive, Terza collezione, CSCO 346-7 (Leuven, 2011), [abbreviated III]. 48 II, 3.4,78. 49 For details see P. Hagman, The asceticism (2011), 95-111.

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understanding. More than a concrete reality, this attitude becomes an expression of a worldly-view, mundane and secular, earthly and historical that takes humans far away from their purpose, namely spiritual life. Spiritual life means the body becomes more subtle and penetrated by the soul, overshadowed by the Spirit, and the world a book of reading God from it, full of grace, the place of worship and sanctification, the school of learning God’s love towards the entire creation. The first division – the world as passions and temptations – seems to stand at the very basis of the other negative significations as it generates a bodily and, in consequence, a materialistic view of life and world in general. It starts from a personal inner corruption and goes further to a social denatured understanding and practice. The religious endeavour stands responsible for the social approach. In the first collection, he develops this understanding: The world is, according to contemplative inquiry, to be a common name for some special passions. When we want to speak of these passions together we call them world,50 but when we want to speak of them separately we call them passions.51 These passions are part of the normal running of the world and where they cease the world stops in its normal path. They are: love of richness, gathering of possessions, fatness of body giving rise to the tendency towards carnal desire, love of honour which is the source of envy, exercising authority, pride and pomp in power, elegance, human glory which is the cause of animosity, bodily fear.52

Here Isaac speaks about passions as corruptive for the body, soul and mind, and, in general, a distraction from the main original purpose. They are strictly connected to the body, this is why he calls them ‘bodily’. One can observe here that body and world overlap occasionally. It is useful and necessary to dwell at short on the understanding of ‘passions’ by Isaac, as it reflects the two folded pattern we analysed up to now. The term he uses is ¿þÐ 53 – ambivalent, it refers either to a natural capacity of the soul that can be directed towards both good and evil, or to a sinful desire of the body or soul. Passions, in the negative sense, are ‘additions’ to nature, which came forth as a result of human sin.54 Isaac shares the opinion that there are passions that belong to the nature of the body, to the soul and to the soul ‘in a secondary way’.55 That means they are called so because of the close connection between body and soul.56 50

¿ćäáï. ? ¿þÐ. 52 I, 2,13 (B, 18-19). 53 Its radical – ¿þЖ means ‘to suffer’, analogous with the Greek πάθος; other related terms: ÀÎáÚÑã(weakness), ¿çÚêæ(temptation). 54 I, 3,15 (B, 22). 55 ĀÙ¾ćáÙ¾ý/ I, 3,17-18 (25-26). 56 I, 3,16 (B, 23); for the list of the passions see II, 3.4,27. The ascetic life observes a succession pertaining to this division – the beginners are more preoccupied with the bodily labours 51

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In the line of John the Solitary’s ascetical theology or of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s pedagogical history, Isaac states that God, as a good pedagogue, finally applies all measures for the benefit of humans, so even passions are inserted in God’s providentially work: ‘All the existing passions were given to be of help to each of the natures to which they naturally belong and they were given by God for the growth of these natures’.57 This perspective reveals God as a pedagogue towards the divine knowledge and knowledge is assimilated to the process of maturing and healing the inner man.58 This main signification of the world develops into different attitudes and actions regarding the social area, encompassed terminologically into what we generically call ‘world view’ or worldly mentality. In consequence, world refers to distraction from the main scope reflecting the natural in human’s existence.59 Then a corrupt view of the world affects the human interrelations. According to the biblical and ascetical tradition, there is a priority of the divine love to the human love. From this perspective, the ascetic re-establishes this succession and experiences the love for humans out of the worldly way of loving. For him, to love the world (in its worldly acceptance) does not mean to love people. In this frame one finds the necessity to flee from the world, not because it is bad, but because its mundane, a secular perspective. From this state, the ascetic practises ‘a luminous love’ for the entire humanity.60 Thirdly, the term ‘world’ refers to the human fight for leadership. Isaac accepts there is a hierarchy in this world and, ideally, it is very important that each being finds its place in this cosmic hierarchy, but this will not be the case in the future world when all will be equal and will have a direct knowledge of God.61 Here one may find a very specific perspective that does not reflect the classic Dionysian theology of the hierarchy. Isaac proposes a spiritual lifestyle and not obligatorily a geographical flight from the world. In this line, he insists on the role of the holy man, not so much quantitatively, but more qualitatively, by the means of prayer assuming the entire world in a universal solidarity.62 Fourthly, the Bishop of Nineveh assimilates the world with possessions, luxuries, delicious and fat food, finery things and a high position in society. As a monastic, Isaac regards these in a radical way, as standing against to the spiritual life. He simply and directly declares: ‘It is not possible for one who loves elegance to acquire a humble mind … Who could be able to acquire (conduit of the body), while the ascetics more experienced with the labours of the soul (conduit of the soul). 57 I, 3,15 (B, 25). 58 I, 70,324 (B, 484). 59 II, 3.4,54; I, 18,100 (B, 147); I, 46,32 (B, 332); I, 74,346 (B, 515). 60 II, 3.4,34-5. 61 I, 27,135 (B, 201). 62 See my ‘Monahul şi solidaritatea universală: Sfântul Isaac Sirul şi viziunea sa optimistă asupra vieţii viitoare’, Altarul Reîntregirii 16 (2011), 119-47.

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chastity of mind when he is addicted to luxury? And who could acquire humble inward thoughts, when he is pursuing outward glory?’63 2. Asceticism and the world to come Putting together body and asceticism takes us to a third reality of the world human beings are called for – ‘the new world’, ‘the eschatological world’, the ‘world to come’. The appeal to this reality is quite common for an ascetical tradition in general, but in Isaac it gets again quite a positive signification for the daily life too. The eschatological dimension of spiritual life is an essential dimension for Christian life, in general, and for monastics, in particular. It is not simply a way of rejecting this world, an escape and a flight from the world into another reality that might be interpreted as an individualistic and anti-social endeavour. But it is an evident variant of reconstructing the world within the very basis of a perfect functioning as it was created at the beginning. Asceticism is the means for this transformation. There are two sequences that generate its practice – a kind of refusing of a specific corrupted world-view and, successively, its reconstruction. The eastern ascetical tradition has always valued the original beauty and goodness of creation and its vision regarding creation is retrospectively oriented to this good state in connection with a prospective understanding of its eschatological fulfilment, in a glorious new world. The life flows in between ‘now’, interpreted in the light of what was to be, and ‘not yet’ (Luke 17:21) that means the expectative state of the life to come. In Isaac’s terms, this reality is called ‘the mystery of the Sunday’,64 the penetration of eschatological life into earthly reality. Patrick Hagman names this state –‘nonplace’,65 out of the worldly system, and yet in the world. Thus, asceticism is a prophetic attitude that reflects this paradoxical situation, expressed by the will of reconstructing the world in a way denouncing in what appears to be. It is not simply contemplative, as one might believe, but it is evidently practical and transformative, and yet, not always forms a quantitative perspective but more a qualitative one, an inner reality that prolongs its effects in the social realm. In Isaac’s view, there are two sequences in this process and three movements. There is a necessary separation, generated not by an individualistic attitude or by hatred and disdain towards the world, but by the wish to reach an objective world-view, standing outside the world, but not disconnected from it. One identifies a movement of separation, necessary for a successive reintegration. And from here three movements – a revolt and a denouncement of a materialistic 63 64 65

I, 4,31 (B, 44). I, 28,302-303. P. Hagman, The asceticism (2011), 214.

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world-view, a passion dominated society; an appeal to a second reality of reaching a new mentality regarding life and world by means of an ascetical endeavour, that is reconstructing the ‘mind’ in the resemblance of ‘Christ’s mind’ (mens Christi); and the reconstruction of the world by a spiritual presence and a spiritual perspective. Here one may identify the social role of the spiritual man, a constant in the life of the Church. In this paradigm, body gets a specific and a positive role – it becomes the instrument of ascetic life (next to soul), that is the means for transforming and spiritually reconstructing the self and the world. Isaac positively values the body in the ascetical labour – in prayer,66 in prostrations67 and kneeling,68 fasting,69 weeping70 or other monastic practices. This transformation is made out of ascetical practice, thus they do not reflect only a monastic practice, but they express ‘a transformative methodology’, firstly individual, but always in reference to the social reality. An ascetic life is the medium for the work of the grace that offers a new world-view and in consequence a transformation of human’s practice regarding the world, on the basis of ‘the spiritual laws’. The image of this transformation is the new world. There are three evident ‘political’ characteristics of this reality that might have a concrete incidence on this earthly world, revealing its incomplete state of the latter one – egalitarianism, lack of hierarchy and direct knowledge. Taking the first issue, Isaac denounce the inequality in this world putting it face to face to the life to come where there will be a perfect communion and equality. I will quote one short paragraph where Isaac synthetically deals with this issue in a successive description: Up to this mystery (the contemplation of God) there are teachers and disciples, there are greater and smaller, there are the great and the mediocre. However in the perception of grace this knowledge is equal: there is no ascent and descent in it. Then it will not be so that some will know and feel less while others will learn more or will be more illuminated! Rather, all will have the complete fullness, without lacking, the incomplete perfection without increase or decrease. And there will be no great and no small, as it is with other revelations, but all will be raised up to the same level of perfection without variance or change. There will be no rich and no poor, no givers and no receivers.71

One can identify here Isaac’s bold perspective in matter of unconformity between the ‘political system’ of this world and that of the one to come. If Dionysius accepts a kind of hierarchy in the Kingdom as pattern for the liturgical 66

I, 18,144; II, 6,6; 14,12; 21,4. I, 18,140; II, 4,4,9; 5,8,11; 6,4; 14,22,24,42,46; III, 2,2. 68 II, 4,4; 5,11,33; 6,4,7-8; 14,19,24,27,43; 21,6; 22,6; 30,5; 31,6; III, 12,31. 69 II, 10,6; 22,1,5; 31,1; III, 9,1; 70 I, 6,93; 14,125; 35,244-5; II, 8,17; 18,6-8,14-17,19-22; 20,25; 24,1; 25,1; III, 7,25; 9,1; 12,17. 71 II, 33.3,57 (translation P. Hagman, The asceticism [2011], 208). 67

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hierarchy in the Church, Isaac seems to express the idea that hierarchy is acceptable only for this life and he recognises the leaders, but does not accept its validity in the life to come. The problem of hierarchy is connected to the view of authority, accompanied by fear, not compatible with the description of God as love and, in consequence, world as a school of learning love. Any leadership, religious or political, has an earthly temporary existence and can be accepted as much as those in its service stand before Christ, the Master by excellence. And finally, angels and humans, despite their unequal status in this world, in the life to come will be all equal and included in God’s providence, and all will be the receptors of a direct knowledge, for ‘His love is one, for the holy angels, the sinners and the saints’.72 In this line, asceticism becomes the context of anticipating the new world already during earthly life. It generates ‘a non-place’, out of the worldly system, a correction of a corrupt world-view (worldly, bodily and mundane) with a new ‘spiritual vision’, closer to its original purpose at the very beginning. In a way, it means ‘internalising’73 the new world-view in the social behaviour in what we might call ‘ascetic world-view’. We speak about the same world. It is not about simply rejecting the surrounding reality, but more about transforming it, according to the next world ‘rules’ – the ‘knowledge of the life to come’. This third reality goes along with the linear Theodorian vision of history, for it brings completion and spiritual fullness. This state represents faithfully the Pauline transformation of creation – new world and new body, and, in consequence, it presupposes a source for Christian hope in an eschatological world, already anticipated on earth. Conclusion I will draw three short conclusions regarding the benefit of this optimistic theology. Firstly, despite the apparent individual and hermetical character of Isaac’s ascetical perspective, one can identify its specific social role. Looking at the world to come and its ‘rules’ has an evident pedagogical role in the sense it identifies what is wrong in it and proposes some concrete changes in accordance with those of the eschatological reality. Secondly, Isaac’s asceticism has not a negative expression of rejecting the world as it is bad, but one may find the accent on asceticism’s transformative role. He speaks about new world and new body in the sense of continuation not interruption of what was created well by God. It is, on one side, a confirmation of the creation made good by God (by the means of contemplation) by searching for the original beauty. In addition, on the other side, it is about the completion 72 73

II, 3.4,87. P. Hagman, The asceticism (2011), 218.

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of history by achieving an anticipatory experience of the life to come. This means changing the horizontal world-view with a holist-vertical reading of reality. The third idea, the very core for Isaac’s theology is the social dimension of prayer – every hermit is connected with all creation and all people. Despite its geographical separation, the soteriological process is realised only in communion and for the entire existence.74 It is not much quantitative, but qualitative (spiritual), more important in the monastic hierarchy. Finally, asceticism revels itself as relation to society, political, in the original sense of the word, and social, as expressing the unity of all into one reality.

74 See II, 3.1,68 (the mystery of resurrection and the new world: 1Cor. 15:28; Col. 3:3-4); III, 5,2,10.

A Healing Vision: Elements of the Greco-Roman Miraculous Healing Tradition in the Coptic Life of Onnophrius Candace L. BUCKNER, Virginia Tech, Blacksburg, VA, USA

ABSTRACT In the Life of Onnophrius, the anchorite Timothy shares the story of his miraculous healing with the monk Paphnutius. Timothy explains how a man described as extraordinarily glorious (ⲉϥϩⲁⲉⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲙⲁⲧⲉ) appeared and performed liver surgery without any medical tools. According to the text, the man cut open Timothy’s side with his fingers as if with a knife, removed the liver, bound its wounds, and then placed the liver back in his body. I argue that this text draws upon larger discourses concerning miraculous healings, in particular this healing incorporates elements common to accounts of Asclepian healings and dream healings in antiquity.

Introduction Imagine yourself as a lone desert ascetic, afflicted with excruciating abdominal pain. Surrounded by deafening silence and convinced your illness has resulted from your own sinful transgressions, you lay helpless on the ground under the scalding, unforgiving sun. As the relentless heat sears your flesh, you look up to find a man standing before you, shining and radiant, who inquires about your illness. Once informed of the source of your agony, the glorious man proceeds to perform a miraculous surgery – one without surgical tools or anesthetic. Afterwards, your deft surgeon entreats you to refrain from sin, so that you do not contract a worse illness. This exact miraculous scenario is introduced in the Sahidic1 Life of Onnophrius, a work which most 1 The Life of Onnophrius survives in several manuscripts composed in Arabic, Greek, Latin, and Coptic – Sahidic and Bohairic dialects. For a discussion of the manuscripts and fragments see Paola Buzi, ‘La ricostruzione della tradizione copta relativa al monaco Onofrio: Un caso esemplare di integrazione tra fonti letterarie, archeologiche e documentarie. Dati acquisiti e questioni aperte’, in Paolo Nicelli (ed.), L’Africa, l’Oriente mediterraneo e l’Europa: Tardizione e culture a confronto (Milano, Roma, 2015), 158-61; Sylvestre Chauler, ‘Saint-Onuphre’, Les Cahiers Coptes 5 (1954), 13-4; Louis Théophile Lefort, ‘Fragments Coptes’, Le Muséon 58 (1945), 97-100; Marc Malevez, ‘La mission de Paphnuce. Premières recherches en vue de la constitution du dossier hagiographique des Abba Onuphre, Paphnuce et Timothée’, in Études coptes VIII: Dixième Journée d’études, Lille 14-16 juin 2001, Cahiers de la Bibliothèque Copte 13 (Paris,

Studia Patristica CXXV, 191-203. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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certainly was composed before the seventh century CE and arguably around the late fourth century CE.2 Fully extant in two Sahidic Manuscripts, Oriental 7027 in the British Library and M580 in the Pierpont Morgan Library,3 the

2003), 225-7; and Tito Orlandi, Koptische Papyri Theologischen Inhalts: Papiri copti di contenuto teologico, Mitteilungen aus der Papyrussamlung der Österreichische Nationalbibliothek 9 (Wien, 1974), 158-61. 2 The dating of the original composition of the Life is complicated. The dating of the Sahidic manuscripts correspond to the ninth century and the eleventh century CE: Oriental 7027 is dated 1004 CE, Bentley Layton, Catalogue of Coptic Literary Manuscripts in the British Library Acquired Since the Year 1906 (London, 1987), 192 and M 580 to 889/890 CE, Leo Depuydt, Catalogue of Coptic Manuscripts in the Pierpont Morgan Library (Leuven, 1993), 322; however, the late dates give us little indication of how early the text was composed. There exists, or rather there existed, fragments, one which was dated to the seventh century CE and another tentatively to the fifth century CE, L.Th. Lefort, ‘Fragments Coptes’ (1945), 98-9, but these unfortunately were lost when the Louvain University Library caught fire in 1940 (Depuydt, Catalogue of Coptic Manuscripts [1993], 322; Lefort, ‘Fragments Coptes’ [1945], 97). Tito Orlandi points to other fragments in Vienna, which can arguably be dated to the sixth century CE, but the date for these fragments is not firm (T. Orlandi, Koptische Papyri Theologischen Inhalts). Marc Malevez suggests an original composition between 385-399 CE because the text is associated with Scetis, and yet, there is no mention of the Origenist controversy, anti-Origenist sentiment, or the name Theophilus whose festal letter sparked a particularly divisive episode in the controversy. He particularly stresses the omission of Theophilus; for him, the omission indicates the Life either was composed in a time prior to the controversy or was later amended to remove any mention of the name, a fairly common practice post the Origenist controversy, M. Malevez, ‘La Mission de Paphnuce’ (2003), 229-30. 3 Oriental 7072 and M580 represent the two major Sahidic witnesses to the text. Neither manuscript has any lacuna. E.A. Wallis Budge published an edited version of the Oriental 7072 in Coptic Martyrdoms etc. in the Dialect of Upper Egypt published in 1914. M850 has never been published or edited, a digital copy is available through the Pierpont Morgan Library’s online archive. For a description of the manuscript of Oriental 7072, see entry 161 of B. Layton, Catalogue of Coptic Literary Manuscripts (1987), 192-4. For the Coptic text see E.A Wallis Budge, ‘Life of Onophrius’, in Coptic Martyrdoms etc. in the Dialect of Upper Egypt, Coptic Texts vol. IV (London, 1914), 205-24. For English translations see E.A. Wallis Budge, Coptic Martyrdoms etc. (1914), 455-73, and a more modern translation, see Paphnutius, Histories of the Monks of Upper Egypt and the Life of Onnophrius, trans. Tim Vivian, Cistercian Studies 140 (Kalamazoo, 1993), 144-66. For a description of the manuscript of M 580, see entry 163 of L. Depuydt, Catalogue of Coptic Manuscripts (1993), 322-4; an edited french version of the text and translation, see Marc Malevez, La mission de Paphnuce. Une introduction aux pères du désert. Traduction et commentaire de la «Vie d’Onuphre» (manuscrit copte sahidique Pierpont Morgan M 580 et manuscrit arabe nº 300 «homélies» conservé au monastère des Syriens), memoire inedit (Liège, 2000); and an English translation, see Tim Vivian, Journeying Into God: Seven Early Monastic Lives (Minneapolis, 1996), 172-87. A Bohairic manuscript, Coptic 65, is also extant; it is preserved in the Vatican Library and is dated 978/9 CE. An edited version was first published in 1885, see Émile Amélineau, ‘Voyage d’un moine égyptien dans le désert’, Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 6 (1885), 166-94. Later, Tito Orlando published a updated version with an Italian translation, see Tito Orlandi, Papiri copti di contenuto teologico (1974). The amount of textual witnesses and the differences in the them leads Buzi to argue that the manuscript tradition preserves the growing importance of Onophrius for the cult of saints in Egypt, a fascination which she argues is reflected in artistic representations of

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account4 is almost virtually identical except for an interesting variant: M580 preserves a curious detail, namely that the surgeon teaches Timothy how to treat his wounds in the future (Life of Onnophrius 8). The current article focuses on M580 because it adds the focus on medical instruction to an already peculiar healing narrative. In the account, a monk named Paphnutius5 travels into the desert to seek wisdom from various anchorites (Life of Onnophrius 2). After encountering a long dead monk (Life of Onnophrius 2), Paphnutius meets the monk Timothy (Life of Onnophrius 3). Timothy then explains how he came to be an anchorite with a tale of lust, repeated sexual transgressions, eventual repentance, and a flight into the desert (Life of Onnophrius 5-7). For his part, Paphnutius asks not about Timothy’s lascivious conduct or how he might avoid similar pitfalls; instead, he inquires about Timothy’s life when he first came to the desert. Here, Onnophrius in Egypt and into lower Nubia (P. Buzi, ‘La ricostruzione della tradizione copta relativa al monaco Onofrio’ [2015], 163-4). 4 It also shares some uncanny parallels to the account of the Life of Aaron, including the emphasis on the transmission of ascetic knowledge and anecdota between masters and disciples. For a discussion of the similarities of the texts, see Jitse H.F. Dijkstra and Jacques van der Vliet, The Coptic Life of Aaron: Critical Edition, Translation and Commentary, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 155 (Leiden, 2020), 35-46, 52-3. 5 The authorship of the text is also debated. The text is ascribed to Paphnutius; however, the name Paphnutius was common in antiquity, and several historical monastic figures possess the name. As a result, there are multiple possible candidates for its authorship. Moreover, a few authors have tied the author of this life to the Histories of the Monks of Upper Egypt partially due to thematic similarities. Specifically, Tim Vivian argues that both works were written by the same venerable monk named Pahpnutius Cephalas around the late fourth century CE because of his association with Scetis; his appearance in the Apophthegmata Patrum (AP) as a contemporary of Antony; and his mention in Palladius’s Lausiac History which mentions him traveling to collect wisdom in the south (T. Vivian, Histories of the Monks of Upper Egypt [1993], 49-50). It is worth noting that none of the AP which assign sayings to Paphnutius Cephalas associate him with Scetis. However, other scholars are skeptical of this shared attribution. Jitse Dijkstra argues that the author Paphnutius was most likely a pseudonym in the case of the Histories of the Monks of Upper Egypt, which he calls the Life of Aaron: Jitse Dijkstra, ‘Monasticism on the Southern Egyptian Frontier in Late Antiquity: Towards a New Critical Edition of the Coptic Life of Aaron’, Journal of the Canadian Society for Coptic Studies 5 (2013), 35-6. In addition, Dijkstra uses paleographic evidence of the Life of Aaron’s earliest extant fragments coupled with the dating of the text’s various bishops, as well as the text’s use of the title of pagarch, which was primarily used during the sixth century CE, to argue for a terminus ante quem of 700 CE and a terminus post quem of the fifth century. The implications of his argument are two-fold: 1. the Lives of Aaron and Onnophrius possess two different authors, and 2. any of the most plausible of the Paphnuti could not have authored the Life of Aaron because all of them would have been too old based on the dating markers of the text. Furthermore, he notes that the Life of Onnophrius, unlike the Life of Aaron, ties Paphnutius to Scetis. His argument allows for the possibility that Paphnutius of Cephalas wrote the Life of Onophrius, and as a consequence, the Life of Onnophrius and Life of Aaron do not share a compositional date. Finally, Buzi has pointed out that none of the primary textual witnesses which possess a title include Paphnutius as the author and is less convinced, than Vivian the same Paphnute wrote this text and the Life of Aaron (P, Buzi, ‘La ricostruzione della tradizione copta relativa al monaco Onofrio’ [2015], 160, 163).

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Timothy responds with the tale of his illness, which is interpreted as a direct consequence of his salacious behavior. Timothy recounts: Text Location

Text

Translation

11 M.580 f5 column A-B

ⲛⲧⲟϥ ⲇⲉ ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ ⲛⲁⲓ ϫⲉ ⲁⲓϩⲓⲥⲉ ⲧⲱⲛⲟⲩ ⲛⲧⲉⲣⲓⲉⲓ ⲉⲡⲉⲓⲙⲁ · ϩⲱⲥⲧⲉ ⲉⲧⲣⲁⲛⲟϫⲧ ⲉϫⲙⲡⲕⲁϩ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ ⲡⲧⲓⲧⲕⲁⲥ ⲙⲡⲁϩⲏⲧ ϩⲱⲥⲧⲉ ⲉⲧⲙⲧⲣⲁ ⲉϣϭⲙϭⲟⲙ ⲉⲉⲅⲣⲉ ⲛⲛⲁⲥⲩⲛⲁⲝⲓⲥ ⲉⲓⲁ̄ϩⲉⲣⲁⲧ· ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲁⲛⲉⲓⲛⲏϫ ⲉϫⲙⲡⲕ ⲁϩⲉⲧ ⲃⲉⲡⲧⲓⲧⲕⲁⲥ ⲙⲡⲁϩⲏⲧ· ⲁⲓϩⲓⲥⲉ ⲧⲱⲟⲩⲛ ϩⲛⲟⲩ ⲛⲟϭ ⲙⲙⲟⲕϩⲥ ⲁⲥϣⲱⲱⲡⲉ ⲇⲉ ⲛⲟⲩϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲓϩⲙⲟⲟⲥ ⲉⲣⲡⲧⲓⲧⲕⲁⲥ ϯϩⲓⲥⲉ ⲛⲁⲓ ⲉⲡⲉϩⲟⲩⲟ· ⲁⲓϭⲱϣⲧ ⲁⲓⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲩⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲉϥϩⲁⲉⲟⲟⲩ ⲙⲙⲁⲧⲉ· ⲁϥⲉⲓ ⲁϥⲁϩⲉⲣⲁⲧϥ ⲙⲡⲁⲙⲧⲟ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ Ⲛⲁⲓ ϫⲉ ⲧⲥⲁⲃⲟⲓ ⲉⲡⲙⲁ ⲉⲧⲉⲕϣⲱⲛⲉ ⲛⲛϩⲏⲧϥ

And he told me, “I suffered greatly when I came to this place, so much so that I was forced to lie on the ground on account of my heart, and so much so, I was powerless to perform my prayers while standing, but instead I threw myself down whenever I would stand on account of the pain in my heart. I suffered greatly with a great pain. And it happened one day while I was sitting on the ground and suffering greatly. I looked up, and I saw a very glorious man. He came and stood before me, and he said to me, ‘Show me the place where you are ill.’

12 M.580 f5 column A-B

ⲁⲓⲧⲥⲁⲃⲟϥ ⲇⲉ ⲉⲡⲁ ϩⲩⲡⲁⲣⲉϥϣⲱⲛⲉ ⲁϥⲥⲟⲩⲧⲛ ⲧⲉϥϭⲓϫ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ · ⲉⲣⲉⲛⲉϥⲧⲏⲏⲃⲉ ⲁⲗⲏⲩ ⲉϫⲉ ⲛⲛⲉⲩⲉⲣⲏⲩ ⲁϥⲡⲉϩ ⲡⲁⲥⲡⲓⲣ ⲛⲑⲉ ⲛⲟⲩⲥⲏϥⲉ · ⲁϥⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲙⲙⲡⲁϩⲩⲡⲁⲣ ⲁϥⲧⲥⲁⲃⲟⲓ ⲉⲛⲉⲡⲗⲩⲅⲏ ⲉⲧϩⲓϣϣϥ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥϩⲟⲕⲟⲩ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ · ⲉϥϯ ⲛⲛⲉⲟⲩⲁⲙⲟⲙⲉ ⲉⲩⲧⲟⲉⲓⲥ · ⲁϥϯ ⲙⲡⲁϩⲩⲡⲁⲣ ⲉⲡⲉϥⲙⲁ ⲛⲧⲉϥϩⲉ · ⲁϥⲥⲗⲉϭⲗⲱϭ ⲡⲁⲥⲱⲙⲁ ϩⲛⲧⲉϥϭⲓϫ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥⲧⲉϭ ⲡⲙⲁⲛⲧⲁϥⲡⲁϩϥ ⲉⲡⲉϥⲉⲣⲏⲩ ⲡⲉⲭⲁϥ ⲛⲁⲓ ϫⲉ ⲉⲓⲥϩⲏⲏⲧⲉ ⲁⲕⲟⲩϫⲁⲓ ⲙⲡⲣⲕⲟⲧⲕ ⲉⲣⲛⲟⲃⲉ ϫⲉⲛⲛⲉ ⲡⲉⲑⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲡⲁⲓ ϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲙⲙⲟⲕ ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲁⲣϩⲙϩⲁⲗ ⲙⲡ ϫⲟⲉⲓⲥ ϫⲓⲛ ⲧⲉⲛⲟⲩ ϣⲁⲃⲟⲗ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ ϫ⳰ⲓⲛ ⲡⲉϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲙⲙⲁⲩ ⲁⲓⲗⲟ ⲉⲓϣⲱⲛⲉ ⲉⲡⲁϩⲩⲡⲁⲣ· ϯϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲇⲉ ϩⲘ ⲡⲉⲓϫⲁⲓⲉ ⲭⲱⲣⲓⲥϩⲓⲥⲉ ϫⲓⲛ ⲡⲉϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲉⲧⲙⲙⲁⲩ · ⲁϥⲧⲥⲁⲃⲟⲓ ⲇⲉ ⲉⲧ ⲧⲟⲉⲓⲥ ⲉⲧⲉⲣⲉⲛⲉⲟⲩⲁⲙⲟⲙⲉ ⲛϩⲏⲧⲥ

I showed him my diseased liver, and he stretched out his hands over me, and with his fingers interlaced, he split open my side, as if he had a knife. He brought out my liver, and he showed me the wounds which were on it, and he girded them by wrapping its ulcers using a cloth dressing. Then, he returned my liver to its place in this way: He smoothed his hand over my body, and he joined the sides which he had cut with each other. He said to me, ‘Behold! You are healed. Do not return to sin lest some wicked worse than this one happen to you, but become a slave to the Lord from now until forever.’ And from that day, I ceased to be ill in my liver. I have dwelled in this desert without pain from that day, and he taught me the cloth dressing which was made for the ulcers on my liver.”

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Neither the appearance of a divine helper nor the fact that Timothy is cured of his ailment nor the implicit assumption of a direct relationship between illness and sin offer surprise. Hagiographic works are littered with appearances of divine aid in various forms, and as Andrew Crislip notes in his discussion of illness in hagiography, ‘the desert is the realm of divinely assisted health’.6 In addition, the body had long been a marker of the state of the soul in ancient thought, and Christians, far from rejecting the soul-body duality, appropriated this framework for their own understanding of the body, so that infirmity and physical impairment were often assigned spiritual and moral significance. 7 Even the emphasis on the heart, Coptic ⲡϩⲏⲧ, and the liver, Coptic ϩⲩⲡⲁⲣ,8 speaks to the Christian adoption of neo-Platonic models for understanding the function of bodily organs. Namely, the liver had long been considered the seat of the passions,9 and the heart, the seat of rationality.10 His illness then reflects the nature of his sins – repeated sexual transgressions – and the war to subjugate such lusts to his rational mind. Portraying Thomas’s illness as directly impacting specific organs, then, reflects a moral reading of the body consistent with Christian literary tropes and Greco-Roman medical thought. However, there are elements in the story which are unexpected, namely the emphasis on physical surgery and the assertion that Timothy was taught how to treat his liver ailment afterwards.11 While hagiographic accounts of healing abound with tales of cures brought on by ascetic touch, prayer, and even encounters with objects and relics belonging to holy persons, rarely do divine figures or holy men perform physical surgery (If indeed, we can call such thaumaturgy – surgery). Nor do they follow up their ministrations with instruction in medical practice. The anecdote, then, simultaneously bears familiar markers of hagiographic texts and incorporates seemingly anomalous details when compared with other hagiographic healing accounts. And yet, this observation gives rise to another: while the appearance of miracle cures accompanied by medical instruction appears in Christian texts, they tend to do so in accounts of dream healings; however, those accounts rarely detail miraculous surgeries followed with medical instruction. In fact, to find accounts of surgeries or medical instruction, one must look to pagan literary accounts of dream healings, especially in ones featuring the god Asclepius. That is not to say that the Egyptian healing tradition did not influence the 6 Andrew Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh: Illness and Sanctity in Late Ancient Christianity (Philadelphia, 2013), 76. 7 A. Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh (2013), 28-9. 8 It is the Copticized Greek ἧπαρ. There is an alternative form in Sahidic ϩⲏⲡⲁⲣ. 9 See Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 432: πολλὰ γοῦν θιγγάνει πρὸς ἧπαρ/ for many things touch the heart. 10 Although this view was popular, Hippocrates, Aristotle, and Galen argue against this model by placing rationality in the head. 11 See E.A.W. Budge, ‘Life of Onophrius’ (1914), 208-9.

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composition of this text,12 but descriptions of various Egyptian healing gods, such as Thoth, Isis, Serapis/Osiris, and Imothep, rarely feature surgery. In multiple iamata or recordings of healing cures, Asclepius appears and performs not only surgery but also applies a variety of tinctures, ointments, poultices, and other healing concoctions. He also makes use of a variety of contemporary medical tools. Such details in accounts of Asclepian healings reflect contemporary medicinal and pharmacological practice, an interest at odds with their Christian counterparts. In the words of Jeffrey Pettis, ‘[u]nlike the Asclepius cult, the imagery and description in … dreams of the early Christian cults do not suggest/reflect the practice of pharmacology and therapeutic healing’.13 What then should we make of Timothy’s account? I would argue that Timothy’s account although not occuring in a dream or a vision per se provides evidence of continued employment of older healing models in Coptic hagiographical texts. I do not contend that there is a direct line between the Coptic literary account and Asclepian dream narratives, but rather that Timothy’s healing reveals a cultural legacy whereby authors, especially hagiographers, drew upon well-established literary conventions to describe miraculous healings in their own works. To do so, I will provide a brief history of Asclepian healing narratives and their complicated relationship with Christian dream healing accounts; and then I will return to the Life of Onnophrius and examine how Timothy’s healing account draws on elements common to the Asclepian healing tradition in ways that serve to magnify the authority of the Christian narrative. Much to do about Dreaming: Christian Inheritances of the Asclepian Dream Healing Tradition Recently, scholars have noted the parallels between Christian and GrecoRoman incubation cults and accounts of dream healings.14 According to Ildikó Csperegi, ‘Christian incubation cults, together with the way in which the miracles were recorded, are heir to the classical and late antique practice of pagan temple sleep and to the pagan incubation healing miracles’.15 It has been suggested that even as late as the seventh century CE, Christian dream healings still more 12 For exmaple, Demetrios of Phaleron, a Ptolemaic official, composed a five-volume work of dream cures associated with Serapis which is no longer extant. 13 Jeffrey Pettis, The Sleeper’s Dream: Asclepius Ritual and Early Christian Discourse, Gorgias Studies in Classical and Late Antiquity 17 (Piscataway, 2015), 208. 14 See Ildikó Csperegi, ‘Who is behind Incubation Stories? The Hagiographers of ByzantineHealing Miracles’, in Steven M. Oberhelman (ed.), Dreams, Healing, and Medicine in Greece: From Antiquity to the Present (Burlington, 2013), 162; Mariangela Monaca, ‘Aspetti iatromantici e iatromagici nel culto dei santi: vita e miracoli di Santa Tecla’, in Cristo e Asclepio: Culti terapeutci e taumaturgici nel mondo mediterraneo antico fra cristani e pagani, Nuova Biblioteca di Scienze Religiose 11 (Roma, 2008), 161-74. 15 I. Csperegi, ‘Who is behind Incubation Stories?’ (2013), 162.

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readily resembled their pagan counterparts than other types of healing narratives typically found in hagiography.16 Incubation healing narratives bear witness to a continued mode of communication about the nature of the body and its relation to ancient belief in the curative value of dreams. In the words of Patricia Cox Miller, [t]inged as they are with an aura of the supernatural, these testimonies nonetheless provide witness to a very ancient trust in the therapeutic effects of the somatic imagination, here expressed in the forms of dreams. As aspirations toward a new body, a renewed physical self, such tales suggest that, in the context of illness, dreams were viewed as vehicles of a very material kind of metamorphosis.17

In essence, these tales do more than reveal the aspirations of the ancient persons; they reveal how ancient people imagined healing and communicated that desire for healing to others. Just as importantly, Jeffrey Pettis points out that dreams in healing accounts ‘… elicit the notion of a liminal condition, where one’s relation to the literal world has become disoriented by some redefining encounter not fully understood but quite real…’18 The emphasis on incubation, then, reflects an interest in the transformative nature of liminal experiences, and a focus on the suspension between the current world and the supernatural. Perhaps, no greater witness exists to incubation healing miracles than the literary and inscriptional evidence from the cult of Asclepius. Established in the sixth century BCE in Asia Minor for the worship of the healing god Asclepius,19 the cult maintained popularity well into the third century CE, and although it saw decline in the fourth and fifth centuries CE, it remained a valuable part of religious and civic life.20 It offers a rich tradition of incubation cures, including accounts of pharmacology and surgery from as early as the fourth century BCE. Its existence in Egypt is evidenced as early as the second century BCE through 16

Marco Dorati, ‘Funzioni e motivi nelle stele di Epidauro e melle raccolte cristiane di miracoli incubatori’, Syngraphé 3 (2001), 91-118. 17 Patricia Cox Miller, Dreams in Late Antiquity: Studies in the Imagination of a Culture (Princeton, 1994), 113. 18 J. Pettis, The Sleeper’s Dream (2015), 84. 19 The god bore the titles σωτηρ or savior and ἲατρος or physician. He was understood as the forebearer of positions and routinely understood as a competitor for Jesus. 20 In its prime, the cult boasted over 200 locations all over the Mediterranean, including Pergamum, Astrica, Messene, Corinth, Lebena, Athens, Cos, and perhaps most famously Epidaurus. By the third century BCE, it had spread to Rome, see Emma J. Edelstein and Ludwig Edelstein, Asclepius: A Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies, vol. II (Baltimore, 1945), 232-42; Olympia Panagiotidou, ‘Asclepius’ Myths and Healing Narratives: Counter-Intuitive Concepts and Cultural Expectations’, Open Library of Humanities 2.1 (2016), 7-8, and ‘Asclepius: A Divine Doctor, a Popular Healer’, in William Harris (ed.), Popular Medicine in Graeco-Roman Antiquity, Columbia Studies in the Classical Tradition 42 (Boston, 2016), 86-92; Milena Melfi, Il Santuario di Asclepio a Lebena (Athens, 2007), 123-49; Susan M. Sherwin-White, Ancient Cos: An Historical Study from the Dorian Settlement to the Imperial Period (Göttingen, 1978), 334-59; Bronwen L. Wickkiser, Asklepios, Medicine, and the Politics of Healing in Fifth Century Greece: Between Craft and Cult (Baltimore, 2008), 35-9.

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Accounts from Epidaurus (IG IV2, 1, 121-2),21 the most prominent and possibly eldest sites22 of Asclepian cultic practice, record the god curing through fantastical surgeries and miracle drugs.23 So, one account (IG IV2, 1, 121, 122, XXVII) preserves how he performs surgery on a man suffering from an abdominal abscess. He cuts his stomach, removes the abscess, and stitches him up. In lieu of fantastical surgery, the god also provides aid in the form of unnamed drugs or herbs. On more than one occasion, the god cures ophthalmological ills with the aid of an unnamed drug (IG IV2, 1, 121, IV; IG IV2, 1, 121, IX). By the second century BCE, such tales included detailed descriptions of medical interventions common in antiquity.24 For example, one inscription from Rome (IG, XIV, 966) details how the suppliant should eat seeds from a pine cone with honey; another from first-century Lebena (ICr 1, XVII, 17) records a complicated medicinal drink which included wine with pepper, starch with hot water, ashes, egg, pine-resin, iris with honey, and quince,25 to name a few ingredients. It is not just pharmacology that receives special attention, the god is also said to use medical tools, such as the cupping instrument or σικύα (ICr 1, XVII, 9). The cupping instrument presents a particularly interesting parallel, as it was featured in Hippocratic medicine, well-represented in ancient medical literature,26 and often used in artistic representations of doctors.27 Additionally, the god’s healing included using his hands to effect cures: he opens (IG IV2, 1, 121, IX) and rubs eyes (IG IV2, 1, 122, XL); he straightens fingers (IG IV2, 1, 121, IV); and he touches hands and chests (IG IV2, 1, 126). In this way, the 21 IG IV²,1 = Inscriptiones Graecae, IV. Inscriptiones Argolidis (Inscriptions of the Argolid). 2nd ed. Fasc. 1, Inscriptiones Epidauri, ed. Friedrich Hiller von Gaertringen (Berlin, 1929). 22 A temple of Tricca supposedly predated Epidaurus; however, there remains only literary evidence in Strabo 9.5.17. Archeologists have failed to find any remains of a sixth-century BCE sanctuary. 23 For example, in one account, (IG IV2, 1, 121, XIII), Asclepius appears to a man of Torone in a dream, cuts open the man’s chest, removes leeches, and stitches him up; in the morning, the man wakes with the leeches in his hand, and in another account (IG IV2, 1, 121, 122, XXIII), a woman named Aristagora, afflicted with a tapeworm in her stomach, dreams that the sons of Asclepius appear cut off her head and are unable to reattach it, resulting in a decapitation in real life. The god then appears in a vision and reattaches the poor woman’s head and performs surgery. The text is clear, Asclepius cuts open her stomach, removes the tapeworm, and stitches her wound. In one account (IG IV2, 1, 122, XXV), Asclepius heals a woman ‘pregnant with worms’, he appears to her and cuts open her abdomen and removes the worms, once he is done, he stitches her up. 24 B. Wickkiser, Asclepios, Medicine, and the Politics of Healing (2008), 8; O. Panagiotidou, ‘“Asclepius” Myths and Healing’ (2016), 22. 25 The quince is a pear-shaped, green apple, used for medicinal purposes, see Hamid Abdollahi, ‘A review on history, domestication and germplasm collections of quince (Cydonia oblonga Mill.) in the world’, Genetic Resources and Crop Evolution 66.5 (2019), 1041-2 and Lawrence J. Bliquez, The Tools of Asclepius: Surgical Instruments in Greek and Roman Times, Studies in Ancient Medicine 43 (Boston, 2014), 269. 26 L.J. Bliquez, The Tools of Asclepius (2014), 25-7. 27 B. Wickkiser, Asclepios, Medicine, and the Politics of Healing (2008), 16-7.

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god appears as the ultimate physician who uses his knowledge and the skill of his hands to effect cures, all while dispensing medical instruction with the understanding that the suppliant would use this medicinal knowledge to achieve better health. A trend that remains well into the second century CE, when Aelius Aristides in his Hieroi Logoi or Sacred Tales explains how Asclepius affected healing through his dreams and visions. Indeed, pagan devotees of Asclepius continue to discuss the efficacy of incubation dreams, such as Plutarch when he writes of his own night in an asclepion in 423 CE28 and Marinus’s Life of Proclus, dated to the fifth century CE, which chronicles Proclus’s desire to cure his arthritis through incubation healing.29 These tales reveal the importance of the Asclepian cult well into the fifth century and its cultural relevance for constructing healing narratives in a variety of sources. Morevoer, Egyptian epistolary and archaelogical evidence attest to the continued association of Asclepius for healings. Correspondence from Memphis dated to the mid-second century BCE attests to the continued existence of an asclepion.30 He was readily associated with temples to the healing god Imhotep,31 so much so that he was made a permanent part of the Egyptian landscape. For exampled, graffiti at a temple of Imothep in Thebes notes how people traveled to ‘worship the great god Asclepios’.32 In this way, the figure of Asclepius particpated in a syncrestic relationship with an Egyptian healing god, and he remained a part of the Egyptian healing landscape. The Christian accounts of healing narratives provide similar details. Within these accounts, petitioners travel to Christian sanctuaries and sought the healing intervention of various saints, a practice which mirrored the movements of pagan supplicants who sought out the healing god Asclepius.33 Moreover, these accounts feature the saint healing often by dispensing pharmacological 28

Ernst Lucius, Die Anfänge des Heillgenkults in der Christlichen Kirche (Tübingen, 1904), 254. Marinus, Life of Proclus, 29. 30 The letter in question is composed by attendants of the Serapeum seeking a reinstatement of a food allowance. The text mentions that earlier there had been an allowance of victals to both the Serapeum and Asclepion, but under recent administration to both these temples, the previous tradition has lapsed. See John L. White, Letter 37, Light from Ancient Letters (Philadelphia, 1986), 69. 31 Philippa Lang, Medicine and Society in Ptolemaic Egypt (Boston, 2013), 57; A temple of Imhotep existed as far south as Philar. See Jamieson Hurry, Imhotep: The Vizier and Physician of King Zoser and afterwards The Egyptian God of Medicine (Milford, 1926), 44. 32 Ibid. 49. 33 Suppliants would seek healing by coming to an asclepion (temple to Asclepius) and making an offering. Typically, the initial offering was followed by purification rites under the guidance of Asclepian priests, which could include bathing, fasting, and ambulatory exercises. Once all preliminary rites were completed, the suppliant was escorted to the ἂβατον, a room dedicated for overnight sleeping and especially suited to encourage dream visitations from the god. This process called incubation served as the vehicle for miraculous healings. According to the accounts in his temple, Asclepius would appear in a dream, dispense a medical cure, and especially in later accounts provide pharmacological wisdom. For a detailed discussion of the incubation process at asclepia in the Mediterranean, see Louise Cilliers and François Pieter Retief, ‘Dream Healing in 29

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knowledge, again, a common feature of Asclepian incubation. For example, in the Life and Miracles of Thecla,34 a fifth-century text, Miracle 7 recounts how Thecla appears in a dream and informs the bishop Dexianos to anoint himself with oil from her sanctuary. The text relates how the oil acts effectively although it is not like the complicated and expensive remedies recommended by others, presumably a dig at pagan healing incubation cults.35 In this way, Christian texts continued in the incubation healing tradition by both acknowledging the common features of pagan incubation cures and employing similar thematic elements. Even Egyptian hagiographical texts demonstrate a connection to incubation healing narratives. For example, Palladius’s Lausiac History 29.3-4 preserves the account of Abba Elias, who afflicted by lascivious thoughts, dreamed that three angels appeared and castrated him with a razor. The effect is clear: ‘… he lived for forty more years, maintaining strongly to the fathers: “Passion comes no more into my thoughts” (LH 29.5)’.36 Although, the text adds a curious detail: that the surgery occurs ‘not in truth, but in a vision. So he seemed in a trance, as one might say, to have been cured’.37 The text’s insistence that the surgery had not material impact betrays knowledge of incubation healing trends, in which surgeries in dreams affect the material world. Certainly, the example provides evidence that even texts concerning Egyptian monks were no less indebted to incubation healing narratives. Timothy’s Healing and the Echoes of the Asclepian Tradition Returning to the Life of Onophrius, evidence of continued Christian engagement with Asclepian healing narratives provides a reasonable foundation for analysis of Timothy’s healing. Recall that incubation dream healings stressed the importance of pharmacology and medicinal edification. Just as importantly, they stressed how dreams impacted the body. What then do we make of Timothy’s Asclepieia in the Mediterranean’, in Steven M. Oberhelman (ed.), Dreams, Healing, and Medicine in Greece: From Antiquity to the Present (Burlington, 2013), 69-92. 34 Gilbert Dagron, Vie et Miracles de Sainte Thècle: Texte grec, traduction, et commentaire, Subsidia Hagiographica 62 (Brussels, 1978). 35 G. Dagron, Vie et Miracles de Sainte Thècle (1978), Miracle 8.6-14: ‘… These events were not the result of any complicated drug, which is exactly the reason she is admired (θαυμάσειε)! When she makes known what those who are suffering must do, she does not lead her suppliants to rare and expensive remedies (φαρμακείας); instead, to common and readily available remedies, so that effecting their salvation (σωτηρίαν; i.e. healing) comes even easier than the procuring of the remedy prescribed (τοῦ μηνυθέντος) is speedy’. 36 Cuthbert Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius: A Critical Discussion Together with Notes on Early Egyptian Monasticism (Cambridge, 1898), 85: ἔζησε δὲ ἄλλα τεσσαράκοντα ἔτη διαβεβαιούμενος τοῖς πατράσον ὅτι εἰς τὴν διἀνοιάν μου οὐκ ἀναβαίνει πάθος. 37 C. Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius (1898), 85: καὶ ὁ τρίτος λαβὼν ξυρὸν ἐξέτεμεν αὐτοῦ τοὺς διδὺμους, οὐ κατὰ ἀλήθειαν ἀλλὰ κατὰ φαντασίαν.

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healing? On the one hand, it follows several expectations of incubation healings: Timothy receives a miraculous healing, a liver surgery without anesthetic or medical tools; he receives the aid of a divine figure, the man radiant with glory;38 and he is healed using medical techniques which would have been familiar to a contemporary audience, a dressing to wrap sores. On the other hand, surgical healings had fallen out of favor in incubation healing accounts, and even when they appear in their Christian counterparts, those texts favored less invasive medical procedures. When they did offer surgical healings, they tended to imagine the body as not physically impacted in the same way, i.e. long term effects on the body without necessarily the physical proof of the healing. In fact, the narrative’s focus on the radiant man’s hands, also offers parallels from both the Asclepian and Christian healing tradition. As a reminder, the text explains that ‘… he stretched out his hands over me, and with his fingers interlaced, he split open my side, as if he had a knife (Life of Onnophrius 8)[,]’39 and later, ‘he smoothed his hand over my body, and he joined the sides which he had cut with each other’ (Life of Onnophrius 8).40 The description of the way Timothy’s side is opened and closed even mirrors artistic portrayals of the god Asclepius. While there is no statuary which depicts Asclepius in the act of healing, a few two dimensional stelai depict the god healing through physical touch.41 Stone reliefs of commonly depict Asclepius with outstretched hands in the act of healing.42 Granted the Christian narrative tradition also has a model for touch as healing, such as when Jesus heals various blind men (Mk. 8:23-5; Matt. 9:29-30; Jn 6:7, 9:1) or cures a man of 38

Andrew Crislip assumes that the man is Jesus Christ. See Crislip, Thorns in the Flesh (2013), 73-4. However, the text never refers to him as such. In contrast, Marc Malevez thinks that the man is an angel, and the disambiguation is a result of the ongoing development of the doctrine concerning angels. In his words, ‘Il ne peut être question d’y voir le Christ (129)’. See Marc Malevez, ‘Les anges comme forces positives dans le combat des moines coptes au désert: L’exemple de la mission de Paphnuce/Vie d’Onuphre: Première partie: la nature angélique’, in Christophe Vielle, Christian Cannuyer and Dylan Esler (eds), Dieux, génies, anges et démons dans les cultures orientales & Florilegium indice orientalis: Jean-Marie Verpoorten in honorem, Acta Orientalia Belgica XXX (Bruxelles, 2017), 125-35. And yet, the text does have evidence of angelic visitations, which explicitly refer to visitors as angels. These angels seem to have explicit functions, although Malevez argues that the glorious man also fulfills a specific angelic role. See Marc Malevez, ‘Les anges comme forces positives dans le combat des moines coptes au désert: L’exemple de la mission de Paphnuce/Vie d’Onuphre: Deuxième partie: taxonomies angéliques’, in Christian Cannuyer, Daniel De Smet and Marie-Anne Persoons (eds), Les Combats dans les mythes et les littératures de l’orient & Miscellanea orientalia et iranica belgopolonica: Wojciech Skalmowski in memoriam, Acta Orientalia Belgica XXXI (Bruxelles, 2018), 305-20. 39 … ⲁϥⲥⲟⲩⲧⲛ ⲧⲉϥϭⲓϫ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ · ⲉⲣⲉⲛⲉϥⲧⲏⲏⲃⲉ ⲁⲗⲏⲩ ⲉϫⲉ ⲛⲛⲉⲩⲉⲣⲏⲩ ⲁϥⲡⲉϩ ⲡⲁⲥⲡⲓⲣ ⲛⲑⲉ ⲛⲟⲩⲥⲏϥⲉ· 40 … ⲁϥⲥⲗⲉϭⲗⲱϭ ⲡⲁⲥⲱⲙⲁ ϩⲛⲧⲉϥϭⲓϫ ⲁⲩⲱ ⲁϥⲧⲉϭ ⲡⲙⲁⲛⲧⲁϥⲡⲁϩϥ ⲉⲡⲉϥⲉⲣⲏⲩ 41 Lee M. Jefferson, Christ the Miracle Worker in Early Christian Art (Minneapolis, 2014), 101. 42 Mabel Young, Cure and Cult in Ancient Corinth: A Guide to the Asklepieion (Athens, 1977), 9 (plate 9).

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leprosy (Matt. 8:2-3; Mk. 1:40-2; Lk. 5:12-3). Although in early Christian art, these healings were often represented not with healing hands but with Jesus bearing a staff.43 In other words, there is almost a seamless blending of elements of the Christian healing tradition and incubation narratives. Timothy seems to receive his healing when awake, unlike in incubation dreams; however, the emphasis on pain also reflects a liminal state. The text dwells on Timothy’s pain and his inability to stand or perform his prayers (Life of Onnophrius 8). In fact, the text makes it clear that the very glorious man tends to appear when individuals are at the point of death. Certainly, this occurs when Paphnutius meets the glorious man, as he is described as having spent four days without food or water (Life of Onnophrius 9a) and being ‘close to death, with [his] soul about to leave the body’ (Life of Onnophrius 9a). He too is revivified by the man’s touch, which is described as mimicking how ‘… a physician touches a person’s eyes’ (Life of Onnophrius 9a). In this sense, appearances of the glorious man coincide with a person on the verge of death, and therefore, they fall within the realm of liminality. In these moments, the divine interferes, the supernatural intrudes on the material world. It is this concept of liminality which appears in Timothy’s account, so that much like dreams, Timothy’s interactions with the divine follow a similar pattern. The account of Timothy’s healing offers a window into the ways that such thematic elements moved beyond the limits of oneiric dream narratives. The tale has several markers congruent with incubation healing, some of which echoe elements from Asclepian healing narratives, including the emphasis on reworld applicable pharmacology. Timothy’s account of liver surgery, then, evokes older models for discussing miraculous cures and highlights trends that remained relevant in Asclepian healing tradition. While the text gives no indication that Timothy is dreaming, the description of his pain indicate that he is in a liminal state akin to that of the dream world. Certainly, the miraculous surgery and the emphasis on divine intervention correspond to details common to incubation miracles.

Conclusion In sum, Coptic hagiography existed at the confluence of Greco-Roman discourses of the body and its healing and the Christian construction of the desert ascetic persona. Timothy’s account offers a window into the intersection of these discourses. I do not mean to imply that there is a direct line between 43 Lee M. Jefferson, ‘The Staff of Jesus in Early Christian Art’, Religion and the Arts 14 (2010), 221-51.

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Asclepian healing accounts and hagiographic healing narratives, but rather I wish to call attention to the ways late ancient Christian texts inherited a language for describing miraculous healings. To that end, Timothy’s account serves not just as a cautionary tale of sin, illness as punishment, and eventual repentance, but it serves as an account of the cultural inheritance, which Christians were loath to entirely discard.

Invoking the Patristic Authority in Controversies. The 318 Fathers of Nicaea and the 150 Fathers of Constantinople in Late Antiquity East Syriac Texts Catalin-Stefan POPA, The Institute for Advanced Studies in Levant Culture and Civilization, Bucharest, Romania

ABSTRACT It is well known that only the synod of Nicaea (325) and that of Constantinople (381) stand on the list of ecumenical councils recognized by the East Syriac Church. The collection of Synodal canons of the Church of the East, briefly analyzed on this issue before, holds clues about these two councils’ reception in the Syriac tradition together with the attempt to make the figure of Theodore of Mopsuestia, the biblical interpreter ‘par excellence’, as creditable as the Fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople, honored by the whole of Christianity, had been. Based on this, the present article will deal with this process of theological reception, attempting to demonstrate the extent to which East Syriac theologians attempted to connect their tradition to the Nicaenum and Constantinopolitanum, and respectively how and based on which concepts they characterized these Fathers compared with the heroes of the Syriac tradition, among which the most prominent was Theodore. Were the synodal meetings of Nicaea and Constantinople really adopted and applied in the life of the East Syriac Church, or did these only represent literary motifs embedded in Syriac texts to confirm that their church was rooted in the universal Church tradition, and stands not outside of it?

This article does not focus on criteria regarding the ecumenicity of these two councils, aspects more or less already debated in the research,1 but explores selected East Syriac texts, attempting to show how this Christian confession used the patristic authority of the fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople in its favor in order to justify and defend the doctrine of Theodore of Mopsuestia. We will begin this analysis by presenting the beliefs of the Syrians about these two synods at the end of the first Christian millennium, after which we will return in time to show how this perception was born and perpetuated within the Syriac narratives.

1 See Peter Bruns, ‘Die Haltung der “Kirche des Ostens” zum Nicaenum’, Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum 40 (2008), 47-60.

Studia Patristica CXXV, 205-213. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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Based on the argument of Syriac bishops’ attendance to the synodal meeting of Nicaea held in 325,2 Elias, the East Syriac bishop of Nisibis (1008-1046), points out a direct connection of his tradition with the Early Church. The author demonstrates a wider interest in adopting this universal event in the history of his church.3 He introduces the Syriac attendees of the synod in a positive light, obviously dominated by legendary and imaginative creation: Šem῾ōn bar Ṣabbā῾ē and Šāhdōst, the representative of the Catholicos-Patriarch Pāpā, a man famous for his excellence and erudition, but unable to attend because of his old age […]; and Ja῾qōb, Metropolitan of Nisibis, who is said to have raised a dead man during this council, in front of the fathers present there, and of the Emperor Constantine;4 Jahballaha, Bishop of Hazzā; Antiochus, Bishop of Rešaīnā; Johanān, Bishop of al-Karkā; Mārī, Bishop of al-Kāra;5 Rabbūlā, Metropolitan of Edessa, and others whose names I do not want to cite due to their great number.6

Elias, somewhat confusingly, depicts the Syriac attendees to the synod from his own perspective. For example, Rabbūlā became bishop of Edessa later on in the year 411 and could not have attended the Synod of Nicaea. This means that Elias confuses Aithilaha of Edessa with Rabbūlā. If we take a look on the Chronicle of Seert, also from the 11th century, we discover two different traditions about East Syriac bishops attending the synod: according to one tradition, the Bishop of Seleucia Ctesiphon, Mar Pāpā, was represented by Šem῾ōn bar Ṣabbā῾ē and Mar Šāhdōst. Conversely, other anonymous sources invoked by the Chronicle mention Šem῾ōn bar Ṣabbā῾ē and Ja῾qōb of Nisibis as representatives of Mar Pāpā. Moreover, these anonymous records mention Gīwargīs of Sinjār and Johannan of Beth Garmaī as taking part in the synod as well.7 Besides these, the much earlier History of Barḥaḏbešabbā ῾Arbaya adds other five East Syriac bishops.8 Indeed, the Chronicle of Seert offers a further interesting aspect which probably unmasks the intention of the Syriac sources of making a link between their local heroes and the first churchly universal meeting. According to the Chronicle, Ephraem the Syrian was a companion of Jacob of Nisibis to Nicaea. This information is difficult to be considered reliable because 2

Louis Horst (ed.), Des Metropoliten Elias von Nisibis Buch vom Beweis der Wahrheit des Glaubens (Colmar, 1886), 25. 3 See Walter Selb, Orientalisches Kirchenrecht, vol. I: Die Geschichte des Kirchenrechts der Nestorianer (von den Anfängen bis zur Mongolenzeit), Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Sitzungsberichte 388 (Wien, 1981), 76-8. 4 This alleged miracle is mentioned also in Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), première partie (I), publiée par Addai Scher, PO IV (Paris, 1907 [reprint: Turnhout, 1971]), 276. 5 Most probably the bishop of Dara. 6 L. Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias von Nisibis Buch vom Beweis der Wahrheit des Glaubens (1886), 25. 7 Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), première partie (I), 277. 8 Nonnus of Circesium, Mar of Doura, John of Goustra, Addai of Arbela, see François Nau (ed.), La première partie de l’Histoire de Barḥadbešabba ʻArbaïa, PO XXIII (Paris, 1932), 209.

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most likely Ephrem was a mere deacon at that time, and therefore does not appear in the synodal acts.9 Moreover, the Chronicle makes known a fascinating legend concerning the number of bishops and the presence of Christ in their midst: 317 names were on the list when voting, but in fact 318 people were present in the hall, so that miraculously Christ remained unrecognized among the synodal fathers.10 Turning to the synod of Constantinople, Elias of Nisibis asserts that this took place 58 years later, a period in which his church was not able to attend: political circumstances in the Persian empire did not allow the East Syrians to be present in Constantinople because the Persian King ‘raged’ against the bishops. However, the East Syrians adopted the resolutions of the synod.11 According to Elias later councils were the result of the Romans’ dogmatic errors. His assertion in a way justifies the decision of his church to ignore all the ecumenical councils held after 381: the East Syrians did not need to participate in later councils, because their church did not depart from the true doctrine, states the Bishop of Nisibis. After becoming familiar with the East Syriac rhetoric about the reason for only adopting the first two ecumenical councils, let us now turn to the question of how the texts of local councils intend to include Theodore’s authority among the legacy of the church fathers of these two ecumenical councils. A first argument comes from the synodal collection of the East Syriac Patriarch Mar Abā, who travelled extensively through the Byzantine Empire together with his apprentice, Thomas of Edessa, to gather and translate the writings of Theodore of Mopsuestia into Syriac. In his Synodal collection, Mar Abā adopted and integrated canons from Western councils from among which the Council of the 318 Fathers of Nicaea is representative in this sense.12 The canons of the synod held under Mār Abā in 543, respectively ten years before the condemnation of Theodore of Mopsuestia and the three chapters on the second council of Constantinople (553), argued that his church, based on Theodore’s dogmatic interpretation, is in agreement with the Council of Nicaea. This 40th canon attempts to validate the theology of Theodore, the biblical interpreter of the Syrians, by this attempt at similarity between the Fathers of Nicaea and the Antiochene 9 P. Bruns, ‘Die Haltung der “Kirche des Ostens” zum Nicaenum’ (2008), 59: ‘Chronologisch wäre dies zwar möglich, doch erscheint es uns historisch wenig wahrscheinlich’. 10 Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), première partie (I), 280. 11 L. Horst, Des Metropoliten Elias von Nisibis Buch vom Beweis der Wahrheit des Glaubens (1886), 26-7. 12 Jean Baptiste Chabot (ed.), Synodicon orientale ou recueil de synodes nestoriens (Paris, 1902), 556; Oscar Braun (ed.), Das Buch der Synhados oder Synodicon Orientale: Die Sammlung der Nestorianischen Konzilien, zusammengestellt im neunten Jahrhundert nach der syrischen Handschrift Museo Borgiano 82 der Vatikanischen Bibliothek (Stuttgart, Wien, 1900), 138; Wilhelm de Vries, ‘Die syrisch-nestorianische Haltung zu Chalkedon’, in Aloys Grillmeier and Heinrich Bacht (eds), Das Konzil von Chalkedon. Geschichte und Gegenwart, vol. 1 (Würzburg, 1951), 60335, esp. 607-8.

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exegete: ‘Our interpretation – that of all of us bishops in all the East – of the faith which was set forth by the three hundred and eighteen bishops, which we hold in our confession on our right and on our left, is that which was composed by the holy and God-loving blessed (one), Mar Theodorus [¿þÙËúà > ‡{{s €üã ¿çÂÎÓ :ÀÍà¾ćà åЍ{], bishop and interpreter of the ? 13 ? divine Scriptures [¿ÙÍàs¿ ÂĀÝx¿çúþóã{¿òÎúêÚòs]’ . This tendency becomes more evident in the canons of later local synods of the Church of the East. Even if we do not know much about controversies concerning Theodore’s theological doctrine in the Church of the East at that time, which could give rise to staunch positions for defending the Antiochian church father, the East Syrians were however probably aware of debates occurring in the Byzantine Empire with reference to Theodore’s position. Moreover, Mar Abā is most likely to have been familiar with theological movements from the West, as he interacted closely with the church hierarchy of Byzantium during his journeys. Theodore appears in the canon as a teaching authority because of his compatibility with the theology of the 318 fathers of Nicaea. The portrait the canon paints of him is not at all surprising to us, and uses concepts familiar to every East Syriac church author. In his synod held in 554, the successor of Mar Abā as Catholicos, Mar Joseph aligns to his predecessor’s position, and includes the fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople in the synod’s resolutions, but makes no reference to Theodore of Mopsuestia.14 Although we have come to expect that the East Syriac bishops would be more concerned with excluding every theological opinion which departs from Theodore’s exegesis, it is too early, as we are now a year after his condemnation issued in Constantinople in 553. It is, however, too early for such a reaction, which seems to come out at the next local synod of the Church of the East under Īšō῾jahb I. After the death of Mar Joseph in 567, his successor Mar Īšō῾jahb I held a local synod in 585. Similarly, the topic of the fathers was an integral theme,15 placed in a passage which precedes even the definition of the orthodox faith 13 J.B. Chabot (ed.), Synodicon orientale (1902), 550 (syriac), 561 (french); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 144-5. 14 In the synod organized by Joseph we find the first mention of the council of Constantinople (381) in a synodal canon of the Church of the East. Around this time there were also a number of interactions of East Syrians with Byzantines, for instance the Persian delegation led by Paul of Nisibis to Justinian in the Byzantine capital. The date of this travel is still unclear in the research, probably dated somewhere between 546-547, 560 or even 561-562. Mār Paul of Nisibis seems to be the author of a dialogue with Justinian (Debate with Caesar) which took place during his presence in Constantinople, in which the East Syriac bishop defended the doctrine of his church. Only a part of this text survived, see: Antoine Guillaumont, ‘Justinien et l’église de Perse’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 23/24 (1969/1970), 39-66. 15 See Dietmar W. Winkler, ‘Zur Rezeption „Ökumenischer Konzilien“ am Beispiel der persischen und armenischen Kirche’, in P. Bruns and H.O. Luthe (eds), Orientalia Christiana. Festschrift für H. Kaufhold zum 70. Geburtstag (Wiesbaden, 2013), 615-36, esp. 628.

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preserved ‘without spot among us in all the churches of God forever’.16 As expected, the text subsequently comes to the apology of Theodore of Mopsuestia’s writings, in the second canon, with the title: ‘A defense of the writings and teachings of the holy Theodore, and against the slander of the heretics, who have spread false information concerning him’.17 Portrayed in a very positive tone, Mar Theodore, the interpreter of the Syrians, is praised by Īšō῾jahb as ‘a wise intellect’ [¿ćäÚÞÐ ¿æ{z] who worked ‘by the Assistance of the Grace’ [ÀÎÃÚÖxÁüÙËïĀÂ].18 Gifted ‘with the sword of the Spirit [¿Ð{x ¿óÚêÂ], which is the word of God [ÀÍàsxÀĀáã€z{ĀÙsx]’, he strove against the distortion of the truth done by ‘teachers of error’.19 His life certifies the presence of our Lord in his actions, so that he was ‘celebrated among the true teachers’, writes the canon of the synod. And his testimony did not end at his death – which makes evident how the synod intends to accentuate a universal reception of Theodore: ‘and after his death his name was cherished and his memorial resplendent in all the churches of God’. Moreover, his literary heritage was accepted by all who have kept the faith unchanged: ‘The books and commentaries of the holy one were approved and dear to all those who confessed uprightly and did not apply themselves to error, for the truth of the apostolic faith was preserved in his commentaries and teachings’.20 It seems quite plausible that this defense of Theodore of Mopsuestia was initiated, on the one hand, as a response to what had happened three decades earlier in Constantinople, and on the other to the changes in the exegetical schools of the Church of the East, which shifted from one patristic tradition to another especially under the domination of Henana of Adiabene in Nisibis who replaced the literary exegesis of Theodore with that of John Chrysostom due to Theodore’s condemnation in the Roman Empire.21 It is interesting that the East Syrians condemned any initiative against the theological authority of Theodore of Mopsuestia without reducing their admiration for John Chrysostom. On the contrary, John Chrysostom is an additional argument confirming Theodore’s authority in terms of faith, since between them subsisted a great Friendship: 16

J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 132 (syr.), 394 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 195. J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 136 (syr.), 398 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 196. 18 J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 137 (syr.), 398 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 196. 19 J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 137 (syr.), 398 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 196. 20 J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 137 (syr.), 398 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 196. 21 See Karl Pinggéra, ‘John Chrysostomos in East Syrian Theology of the Late Sixth Century’, The Harp 18 (2005), 193-201, esp. 195; Michael Morony, Iraq after the Muslim Conquest (Piscataway, NJ, 2005), 356; Gerrit J. Reinink, ‘“Edessa Grew Dim and Nisibis Shone Forth”: The School of Nisibis at the Transition of the Sixth-Seventh Century’, in Jan Willem Drijvers and Alaisdair A. MacDonald (eds), Centres of Learning: Learning and Location in Pre-Modern Europe and the Near East, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 61 (Leiden, New York, Köln, 1995), 77-89, esp. 78-9, n. 7; Luise Abramowski and Albert Van Roey, ‘Das Florilegium mit den Gregor-Scholien aus Vatic. Borg. Syr. 82’, Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 1 (1970), 131-80, esp. 138. 17

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‘For also the blessed John Chrysostom, when he was perversely driven into exile, and was at the point of departing to our Lord, the Crowner of his contests, referred to “the Interpreter as the teacher of truth” [ßÙs¿çúþóäà Áüýx¿çóáäàx], and wrote him a letter during the time of affliction, speaking in this manner: “We remember, then, your fervent, steadfast, and spotless love, and we rejoice in you, for you are the treasury of the Church which is established in the land of Cilicia”’.22 The successor of Īšō῾jahb I, Sabrīšō῾ in his letter against Messalian monks, is familiar with the picture painted by his predecessors: he criticizes this group of monks who doubt the true, orthodox faith and rise up against the true teachers of the church. Among the allegations, he also names the rejection of interpretations of ‘blessed Theodore, the approved and reliable doctor’ [¿çÂÎÖx ÁüÙüý{ÁüÚÑ¿çóáã†{{xs]23. After this introduction, he reminds us of the authority of prophets and apostles, and of ‘the venerable and holy bishops, the three hundred and eighteen who gathered in the city of Nicaea’ from which they gave the exposition of the faith. In this framework, he subtly returns to Theodore of Mopsuestia whose teachings he and his church fully accept and perpetuate unchanged: ‘We accept it with the exact meaning of the holy fathers, which the illustrious among the orthodox, the blessed Theodore the Antiochian, bishop of the city of Mopsuestia, the Interpreter of the Divine Scriptures, explained, with which all the orthodox in all regions have agreed and do agree’.24 This was most probably the reason for Sabrīšō῾ removing any trace of non-recognition of Theodore’s authority within the monastic community. The connection of the East Syriac monks with Theodore’s theology had already been confirmed one century earlier, in the monastic rules of Dādišo῾25, the second abbot of Izla monastery, but now appears in a more specific framework and with arguments much more grounded on the historical authority of the fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople. Moreover, this issue suggests that the authority of the synodal fathers was extended and transferred from strictly dogmatic polemics to monastic disputes, so that by invoking universal churchly authority, the theology of Theodore was posited to have been assimilated by every East Syrian, especially by those who had devoted themselves to monastic ideals. In the canons of the synod held in the year 605 under his guidance, Gregory, Sabrīšō῾s successor, adopted the patristic witnesses of Nicaea and 22

J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 137 (syr.), 399 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 197. The text of the synod invokes here a passage from a Syriac version of the Letter 112 of John Chrysostom. 23 J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 197 (syr.), 457 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 282-3. 24 J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 197 (syr.), 457-8 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 284. 25 According to canon 1 of Dādišo῾, every brother who does not accept the teaching of Mar Diodore, Mar Theodore and Mar Nestorius, should be alien to the monastic community, Oscar Braun, Ausgewählte Akten persischer Märtyrer, Bibliothek der Kirchenväter 22 (München, 1915), 327.

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Constantinople26 in the same intertextual framework, followed one passage later by a defense of ‘the blessed Mar Theodore the Interpreter’ whose writings were approved by the church: A man who was found trust-worthy by divine grace over the treasure of both testaments, the old and the new. Like a river abounding in its floods, he waters and nourishes the children of the Church with the true understanding of the meanings of the Scriptures, in which he was instructed by the Holy Spirit, during his life and in his death.27

Theodore is normative in the exegesis, stipulates the synod of Gregory: ‘For there is no one today who fulfils this labor of teaching in the Church if he is far from the writings of this glorious and godly man’.28 There is no doubt that this passage is referring to a given precedent, whereby the church authority was forced to defend Theodore and his teachings in a period within which his legacy was being threatened by the interconfessional migration of actors such as Henana of Adiabene (who was allegedly close to Byzantine theology and mostly criticized by Babai the Great in his Liber de Unione), and later Sahdona. The same phenomenon of invoking the authority of the church fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople to defend Theodore is also obvious during the Catholicosate of Īšō῾jahb II (628-645). The Chronicle of Seert asserts several times that the 318 Fathers of Nicaea, and the 150 Fathers of Constantinople respectively, assembled by the Holy Spirit, have defined the true doctrine. The Chronicle tells an interesting story in the narrative about an embassy of East Syriac bishops to Heraclius, led by Īšō῾jahb II. After a successful meeting, the Byzantine emperor offered them magnificent gifts and sent the embassy back with honors.29 After the delegation returned to Persia a controversy inside the church emerged. Īšō῾jahb II is said to have been criticized for his dogmatic concord with the Byzantines. In two letters included in the Chronicle, Baršāumās, bishop of Shush, accused the Patriarch of accepting the definition of Mary as Mother of God and of other points of contention. The accusation is much more serious: the Patriarch had to wash his face ‘in the presence of the Orientals’ because his deed had damaged the traditions of the early church. His conduct was in contradiction ‘with that of the 150 (Fathers), who shed their blood on two battlefields’.30 After invoking the authority of these fathers, Baršāumās now completes the picture with the discussion of the 3 teachers of the Church of the East: ‘When our borders with other Orientals were darkened, 26

J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 209 (syr.), 473 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 300. J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 210 (syr.), 475 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 301. 28 J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 210 (syr.), 475 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 301-2. 29 Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), seconde partie (II), publiée par Addai Scher, PO XIII (Turnhout, 1983), 557. 30 Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), seconde partie (II), 567. These battlefields are metaphors for the two the councils of Nicaea and Constantinople. 27

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our priests have overcome the error, and the shining light has risen upon our land, thanks to our fathers the heroes: Mar Diodore, a mine of arguments, Mar Theodore the promoter of truth and liberator of sorrow, and Mar Nestorius the comforter of the afflicted and a demonstrator of the evidence, thanks to their followers, disciples and imitators’.31 The discussions reached a further sensitive point: the celebration of the Eucharist was to be done by confessing the doctors of the orthodox church. According to Baršāumās, the attitude of the Catholicos in celebrating the liturgy by being silent about the heroes of his own tradition, Diodore, Theodore and Nestorius, separated him from those who confessed and testified the faith of the fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople, and who adopted the teachings of the three enlightened fathers of the Church of the East: ‘If you have not mentioned your Fathers [to the celebration] then I, and all those who with me have adhered to the faith of the 318 and 150 Fathers, and who have confessed as Fathers the three lights [Diodore, Theodore and Nestorius] which are the salt of faith and the pillars of religion, we disavow [you]’.32 A last text we shall take into consideration comes from the Christological text of 612 which, in time, became normative for the Church of the East. A rather extensive patristic florilegium of the Greek teachers on the two-natures doctrine is enclosed in this apology, composed after a confessional dispute between East and West Syrians at Chosrau’s court in 609, and which was decisively influenced by Babai the Great. This collection of patristic scholia with the title Demonstrations from the Greek teachers prior to Nestorius33 supports the theological position of Nestorius and, even if not expressly named, implicitly that of Theodore’s teaching as well. A reference to the 150 fathers of Constantinople is also made for the Christological argument: The synod of the one hundred and fifty fathers who gathered in Constantinople, in a letter on the faith which they wrote to the western bishops, spoke in this way: ‘God the Word was perfect God before ages and times, and at the end of the age, for the salvation of us men, he took from us a perfect man [¿çäáþã¿þæsüÂèçãâúý] and dwelt in him [ÍÂüäï{]’.34

Even if the name of Theodore does not appear herein, we can evidently glean Babai’s and Theodore’s influence in the formula of indweling [üäï] in this passage, which certainly confirms that by invoking the authority of the synodal fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople as guarantors of the teaching of the East Syriac church, the argument also aimed to defend Theodore of Mopsuestia.

31 32 33 34

Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), seconde partie (II), 567. Histoire Nestorienne Inédite (Chronique de Séert), seconde partie (II), 570-1. J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 575 (syr.), 592 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 324. J.B. Chabot, Synodicon (1902), 576 (syr.), 594 (fr.); O. Braun, Synhados (1900), 326.

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Conclusion It can thus be concluded that the patristic authority of the 318 Fathers of Nicaea and the 150 Fathers of Constantinople was integrated in the life of the East Syriac Church, mostly in dogmatic controversies with adversaries from outside the church, but also within their own tradition. The Church of the East started to shape its canonical tradition at the first local synod in 410 in Seleucia Ctesiphon, and after this period appeared as an independent church. It began to adopt the universal patristic heritage, mostly through its attempt to validate and better incorporate the theology of Theodore of Mopsuestia. The synodal canons examined above demonstrate a process of continuity in invoking the Fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople as guarantors of the East Syriac doctrine. These local synods took attitude against every tendency from inside and outside of making the doctrine of the interpreter a heresy. The patristic authority of the Fathers of Nicaea and Constantinople represented not only a literary creation but also a mode of synodal authority successfully applied in the largest church of the world on the eve of Islam. For this church, keeping the peace among bishops and obedience toward the Catholicos was not an easy task, especially in those regions located far away from Seleucia Ctesiphon in which a communion break with the Catholicos could appear at any time, weakening the Christian community and its spiritual life.

Interpretation of Christological Passages of Pre-Chalcedonian Fathers by the 8th-Century Armenian Theologians Ovan Odznetsi and Khosrovik Targmanich Khachik GRIGORYAN, Ankyunacar Research Center, Yerevan, Armenia

ABSTRACT Christological views have been one of the most debated issues between East and West, and still remain amongst them. Considerable part of these views both in East and West is derived from the same works of the same authors, mainly of the 4th and the first half of 5th centuries. But decisive for crystallizing the christological views of the Armenian Church was the beginning of the 8th century, these views in some features being unique even among Oriental Orthodox Churches. Nevertheless, this clarification, according to Armenian sources, took place not separately inside the Armenian Church but at the united Armenian-Syriac Ecclesiastical Council of Manazkert in 726. The Council reflected upon all important Christological issues that were debated between Eastern Orthodox and Byzantine Churches, especially after the Third Constantinople Council of 680. Those points were: one or two natures and wills, corruptibility or incorruptibility of Christ’s body, natural or unnatural passions etc. For analyzing the Christological passages we took most important works of two most prominent authors who wrote at that Council, one of them being the work of the Armenian Patriarch who presided at the Council – catholicos Hovhan III Odznetsi ‘Against Phantasiasts’, and the second being the ‘Dogmatic Letters’ of Khosrovik Targmanich, second chief doctor at the Council. These interpretations were not known widely in international theological literature partly due to terminological problems but they have very important implications for understanding the christology of the Armenian Church. In this article the way how they ground their position is being followed.

The problem of theological terms and the union of hypostases It is accepted among scholarly circles that the Armenian Church supports the notion of one nature of Christ in contrast to the notion of two natures. This to a certain degree is a simplification, and to understand the real situation, we have to clarify the definition of the main theological terms such as hypostasis, prosopon, physis and ousia as understood by theologians of the Armenian Church. The writings of Cyril of Alexandria, which constitute the main documents of the 3rd Ecumenical Council, state among others the idea of the union of hypostases in Christ. One can find not only the concept of the union of two

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natures into one, but the concept of the union of two hypostases into one. Moreover, the union of natures is possible, and is expressed only through the union of hypostases. This union is explicitly mentioned in the Cyril’s Apology against Theodoret: καὶ φυσικὴν ἀκούων γενέσθαι τὴν ἕνωσιν, τουτέστιν ἀληθῆ, καὶ τροπῆς ἐλευθέραν καὶ ἀσύγχυτον παντελῶς τῶν ὑποστάσεων σύνοδον1 (‘And hearing that a natural union took place, i.e. real, unrelated to a transmutation and utterly unconfused concursus of hypostases…’). The same idea is seen a few lines below: ὥστε κἂν νοῶμεν ἠνῶσθαι τὰς ὑποστάσεις…2 (‘Thus, though it is proper for us to think that the hypostases are united…’). Cyril puts forward this idea of concursus, or otherwise, union of hypostases in Christ, in explanation of the third anathematism, which itself is about the union of hypostases: Εἴ τις ἐπὶ τοῦ ἑνὸς Χριστοῦ διαιρεῖ τὰς ὐποστάσεις μετὰ τὴν ἕνωσιν, μόνηι συνάπτων αὐτὰς συναφείαι τῆι κατὰ τὴν ἀξἰαν ἢ γουν αὐθεντίαν ἢ δυναστείαν καὶ οὐχὶ δὴ μᾶλλον συνόδωι τῆι καθ’ ἕνωσιν φυσικήν, ἀνάθεμα ἕστω3 (‘If anyone shall after the union divide the hypostases in the one Christ, joining them by that connexion alone, which happens according to worthiness, or even authority and power, and not rather by a coming together, which is made by natural union: let him be anathema’). Aloys Grillmeier thinks that ‘the phrase “union by hypostasis” is merely meant to express the reality of the union in Christ in contrast to a purely moral and accidental interpretation’.4 Furthermore, considering the very important expression καθ᾽ ὑπόστασιν, he finds that this expression was most probably invented by Cyril.5 But he does not acknowledge that ἕνωσις καθ᾽ ὑπόστασιν may have a theological meaning of union of hypostases, a phrase, which Grillmeier mentions in the same chapter. Christopher Beeley acknowledges that ‘“hypostatic union” may appear technically accurate’, but considers it in fact ambiguous, and comes to the conclusion that ‘the union occurs in and by the unique Son of God’.6 Armenian theology generally, and that of 8th century most explicitly, accepts that before the union (or incarnation) human nature was represented by a human hypostasis in the womb of the Virgin, and in the incarnation it united with the divine hypostasis of the Word, forming one indivisible hypostasis. For the considerable part of modern scholars this looks strange because it is believed that hypostasis and prosopon are the same or nearly the same concept, and this identity eventually was ascribed to Cappadocian fathers, some scholars 1

ACO 1, 1(6), 119. Ibid. 120. 3 Ibid. 116. 4 Aloys Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition (London, 1965), 417. 5 Ibid. 412. 6 Christopher A. Beeley, ‘Cyril of Alexandria and Gregory Nazainzen: Tradition and Complexity in Patristic Christology’, Journal of Early Christian Studies 17 (2009), 381-419, 387. 2

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calling it also the ‘Cappadocian reform’.7 Armenian theologians, nevertheless, believed that they remain in the realm of the true pre-Chalcedonian meaning of these concepts, by understanding the union of hypostases in a literal sense.8 Of course, according to them, this union does not mean the union of persons in Christ simply for the above-mentioned reason of a difference of hypostasis and prosopon (person). They refer to the Cappadocian fathers and Cyril of Alexandria, insisting that these fathers do not think these concepts to be the same. Indeed, for instance, Basil of Caesarea says that ‘persons have real hypostasis’,9 which implies that there is a difference in his understanding between ‘person’ and ‘hypostasis’. Khosrovik Targmanich,10 in his polemical treatise, points at the fact that these two concepts were confused in the speech of his Chalcedonian opponent, and gives his definitions of concepts of hypostasis and person.11 According to his view, technically a human hypostasis is an individual human being with main human qualities, i.e. the indefinite individual while the person is the fully defined individual with the name, appearance by which he is different from others, the parents, the deeds and other characteristics.12 Through this definition Khosrovik explains Cyril’s concept of the union of hypostases in Christ. According to Khosrovik, God the Word, in the womb of the Virgin united with his human hypostasis, and not with a previously existed human person.13 It is very important to understand how this concept of a union of hypostases into one is different from the views of Nestorius, which were criticized in the 3rd Ecumenical Council. Nestorius thought that God the Word, united with himself a human hypostasis, but those hypostases remained as they were, two hypostases, united only by dignity. Khosrovik asserts that when fathers, especially Cyril of Alexandria, speaks about the ‘hypostatic union’, it means the union of hypostases into one,14 which from the union onwards is simultaneously divine and human. 7 Խաչիկ Գրիգորյան, ‘Եզրույթների թարգմանությունը հայ միջնադարյան աստվածաբանության մեջ’, Լրաբեր 2 (2016), 259. 8 Խաչիկ Գրիգորյան, ‘«Դեմք» հասկացությունը նախաքաղկեդոնյան հայրերի գործերում’, Պատմա-բանասիրական հանդես 3 (2013), 215-22. 9 PG 32, 789B. 10 Khosrovik Targmanich (in Armenian – ‘Interpreter’) was one of the participants of the Manazkert Council (726 AD), seems to be the second chief theologian after the catholicos (patriarch) of the Armenian Church Hovhan Odznetsi. Little is known about Khosrovik’s biography. His main work, Dogmantic Writings, shows that he, after the Council, was explaining the several points of the Council’s anathemas to various bishops, including the patriarch of the Syriac Church, as well as conducted written polemics with a Chalcedonian bishop. Apparently, he was acting on behalf of the Armenian patriarch. 11 Khosrovik Targmanich, Dogmatic Writings: Armenian original text with English translation (Yerevan, 2019), 49. 12 Ibid. 55. 13 Ibid. 59. 14 PG 76, 407B.

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But Khosrovik Targmanich goes further: he states that Jesus Christ was not only a divine person, but a definite human person too, since he had a human body, a human name, human parents, did human deeds, had an appearance etc. Again, he was not two different persons, divine and human, but one person, who is divine and human at the same time.15 This assertion allows him to speak about the real and complete humanity of Christ in the theology of the Armenian Church, a fact, which he underlines several times. The problem of the number of natures If we return to the issue of the number of natures, one can see in the writings of pre-Chalcedonian fathers, especially Cyril of Alexandria, the assertion of one nature and the assertion of two natures. This fact confuses scholars. Let’s again quote Grillmeier for this purpose: ‘In contrast to Nestorius, he (i.e. Cyril) 16 continually emphasizes the “one physis” in Christ. In this there is some contradiction. But without doubt opposition to Nestorius predominates in Cyril’s Christology from 429. All his thought is directed towards expressing the unity in Christ, though at the same time he does not in any way neglect to distinguish between Godhead and manhood’.17 As one can see, the assertion of ‘one physis’ and the distinguishing between two physes for this famous scholar seems to be an inconsistency, mainly drawn by the opposition to Nestorius, indeed, these assertions of Cyril have confused not only the modern reader. The letters of Cyril show that his contemporaries, bishops and priests loyal to his theology, were also confused from these assertions. He addressed this issue in a number of letters, to Succensus, Eulogius, Accacius etc. This issue is addressed also by the Armenian patriarch Hovhan Odznetsi18 in his writing ‘Against Phantasiasts’ in most detailed way. His explanation is that the expressions 15

Khosrovik Targmanich, Dogmatic Writings (2019), 55. Annotation by the author. 17 A. Grillmeier, Christ in Christian tradition (1965), 409. 18 Hovhan III Odznetsi (†728) was one of the most famous catholicoses (patriarchs) (717-728) of the Armenian Church. He was well known at his time for his administrative skills, piety, erudition in theology and philosophy, for which he has received the titles ‘Saint’ and ‘Philosopher’. He directed his efforts to save the Armenian nation from the Arab dominance in the absence of an Armenian statehood on the one side, and to resist certain teachings in Severianism, Julianism and Chalcedonism that were unacceptable for the Armenian and Syriac Churches at that time on the other side. Aside from his vast theological heritage and books of ecclesiastical canons, the crown of his activities is the joint Armenian and Syriac Council of Manazkert in 726 which formulated 10 anathemas, which were intended to resist the above-mentioned unacceptable points in Serverianism, Julianism and Chalcedonism. Below are those anathemas, taken from Khosrovik Targmanich, Dogmatic Writings (2019), 8: 1. If anyone will not confess Holy Trinity as one nature and one Godhead in three Persons and three Hypostases, perfect and equal, let him be anathema. 16

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‘one nature’ and ‘two natures’ are said in different contexts, or in different frames of reference. The concept of ‘two natures’ refers to the origin, i.e. divine and human natures. Hovhan Odznetsi literally says ‘there are two natures according to the substance of natures’.19 The concept of ‘one nature’ refers to the union of natures (which took place by means of hypostases). This he calls ‘one nature according to the union’. Therefore, the famous formula of Cyril ‘One is the nature of God the Word, incarnate’ is ‘translated’ or explained by the mentioned Armenian theologians into a more comprehensible form of ‘One is the nature of Word the God according to the union (or incarnation)’.20 And this view was a really scientific statement of a duality of Christ’s body. It is quite analogous to the phenomenon of dualism of the light, which was to be discovered only in the 19th-20th centuries. According to the physical view of light’s duality, which is derived from the experiments, the same physical 2. If anyone will not confess God the Word truly incarnated from the Holy Virgin, that is, taken from her our nature, soul, body and mind without damage but will say that Christ appeared in illusion and in likeness, let him be anathema. 3. If anyone will not say that Word the God accepted body not from our sinful and mortal nature but will say that He accepted it from the innocent, immortal and incorruptible nature, which was in the first man before transgression, let him be anathema. 4. If anyone will not confess one nature of the incarnate God the Word according to ineffable union in Godhead, which is from Godhead and humanity but will assert one nature according to nature or according to confusion or transmutation, let him be anathema. 5. If anyone will not confess one and the same God and human at the same time, but says that someone is God and another one – human, let him be anathema. 6. If anyone will not say that Christ’s body was incorruptible from the birth, which is from the Virgin, until eternity, not according to nature but according to ineffable union; if instead he will say that until resurrection it was corruptible, inglorious and imperfect, and only after resurrection it became incorruptible, glorious and perfect, let him be anathema. 7. If anyone will not say, that the Lord’s body was not subject to sufferings and was not mortal according to the nature, and not subject to sufferings and immortal – according to Godhead, which is the word of union; if instead one will say that it was not subject to sufferings and immortal according to nature or was subject to sufferings and mortal according to ineffable union, let him be anathema. 8. If anyone will not say that Christ bore all human sufferings without sin, and instead will say that He by Godhead fell under sufferings, or He was not partaker of sufferings according to the economy, let him be anathema. 9. If anyone will not confess Christ as true God, equal to the Father and the Holy Spirit after the economy, as well as a perfect and true human, equal to the Mother and to us, save the sins, let him be anathema. 10. If anyone will not confess that Christ voluntarily and incorruptibly bore all human sufferings, and instead says that He bore them corruptibly or that the sufferings make Him corruptible, and does not confess with apostles and orthodox doctors, let him be anathema. 19 Հովհան Իմաստասեր Օձնեցի, Մատենագրութիւնք (Վենետիկ, 1834), 108-79, 126. 20 For instance Khosrovik states: ‘If anyone says one nature according to natures and not according to union, would either agree with Arius, who said that the Word and His body are created, and necessarily had to say one nature, taking as an example the human nature, the connection of soul and body, or with Euticheans and Manicheans’, Khosrovik Targmanich, Dogmatic Writings (2019), 75.

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object, light, exhibits quite different and contradictory properties like corpuscular and wave properties, under different circumstances, or alternatively, from different frames of reference. If we return to the Christological context, we can recall two different modes of dualism. The first one, which was put forward by the Chalcedon Council and then was reinforced and developed by post-Chalcedonian authors. The Chalcedonian dualism of Christ implies strictly a deterministic picture: it refers to different natures – Christ’s humanity on one hand and Word’s divinity or divine nature, on the other hand, assuming perichoresis between them in postChalcedonian theology. The second mode of dualism, that of the Armenian theology, refers to the same object – Christ’s body. Armenian theologians take this mode of dualism to explain the words of fathers and also the words of the New Testament. For instance, Khosrovik states that Christ’s body is human according to the nature, but is divine according to the union with the Word,21 a thesis that he attributes to Basil of Caesaria. That is why, Khosrovik states, when Christ says that His body is brought from heaven, we should understand it in the framework of the union of the body with the Word.22 Alternatively, when Christ speaks about His death and crucifixion, we should understand it according to the nature of substance of the body. To better understand such concepts, Khosrovik concentrates on the manner of the union between Word and his body. Among many manners of union that a human mind can imagine, no one can exactly convey the essence of that union, he says.23 But the example of iron and fire, which is used by Basil of Caesaria24 and other fathers,25 seems to Khosrovik most close. If we imagine iron as an example of the human body, then it itself has qualities such as blackness, coldness but when it comes close to the fire, it becomes glowing and warm like the fire itself, which in this example represents divinity. Thus the iron, which is put in the fire, becomes quite like fire, of the same nature, but nevertheless does not loose its substance to be iron.26 Likewise the human body and the soul of Christ united with the Word become one nature with the divinity of the Word due to the union, but they do not cease to be human.27 In this context Khosrovik continues to list other problems if the dualism is understood by attributing it to the divine nature on one side and human nature on the other and not to the union on one side and the nature according to substances on the other, as he showed above. For instance, if the dualism of Christ were attributed 21

Ibid. 223. Ibid. 71. 23 Ibid. 117. 24 Homily on Christ’s nativity, Chapter 2, PG 31, 1461A. 25 For instance, Origen, On Principles, Book 6 chapter 6, PG 11, 213C, or Gregory of Nyssa, Against Eunomius, Book I, PG 45, 337C. 26 Khosrovik Targmanich, Dogmatic Writings (2019), 107. 27 Ibid. 183. 22

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to the natures according to substances, he states, and the one nature according to union is not considered, then theologians would face very serious problem: the Holy Trinity would have two natures, divine and human, and accordingly, would become a tetrad with four hypostases, Father, Son, Holy Spirit and the human body of Christ.28 Consequences of the adoption of the concept of ‘one nature’ From this duality of Christ held by Khosrovik (i.e. natures according to substances and nature according to union), follow further paradoxical consequences. Christ’s body is passible according to its substance, but is impassible according to the union with the Word. Or, Christ’s body is mortal according to the substance, but is immortal according to the union.29 What is more interesting, the union works the other way round too. The Word is said to be immortal according to its substance, but is said to be mortal according to the union with the mortal body. This allowed Gregory Nazianzen to say that God died on the cross.30 Based on these examples, Khosrovik derives the next important consequence: the human things in Christ are divine and divine things are human, and this is the direct result of one nature according to the union.31 No less important are the counterbalancing anathemas of the Manazkert Council concerning the relations of natures in Christ. The 4th anathema states that ‘… if anyone confesses one nature according to the nature or according to confusion or transmutation, let him be anathema’.32 This shows how careful Armenian theologians were in their formulations of one nature. Among non-Chalcedonian Churches there was a disagreement about a number of Christological points. These were the result of disputes between advocates of Severus of Antioch and Julian of Halicarnassus, which needed to be addressed and solved.33 The Armenian Church and the Manazkert Council refused both Severian and Julian representations, criticizing the extremes contained in each of them. For instance, anathemas 6 and 10 are against Severian teaching of 28

Ibid. 163. Ibid. 33. 30 PG 36, 649C. 31 Khosrovik Targmanich, Dogmatic Writings (2019), 71. 32 Ibid. 9. Here by ‘nature according to nature’ the Council means the initial natures, from which Christ is composed. 33 See the anathemas of Manazkert Council in n. 18. At the time of the Council most active were extreme followers of Julian, both in Armenia and outside Armenia, within the canonical territory of the Syriac Church. Nevertheless, inside the Syriac Church the Severian teaching of the corruptibility of Christ’s body was still in force. From the Dogmatic Writings of Khosrovik one can see also interesting blends of variations of Severian and Julian teachings, which he criticizes in chapter 4. 29

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corruptibility, while the anathemas 2 and 3 were against the teaching of Julian’s followers, who held the theory of Christ’s bodily sufferings being a phantasm. Anathema 4 is both against the Chalcedonian rejection of ‘one nature’ and against Julianites. Anathema 5 is against Nestorians. Anathema 7 can be considered the central teaching of the Manazkert Council, which, from the point of view of the Armenian patriarch and the chief theologians, resolved all main misconceptions arising from accepting the ‘one nature theory’ or alternatively, the ‘two natures theory’, as well as many issues contained in the Severian and Julianite teachings. The views of Armenian theologians of the 8th century that they held about the union of hypostases and the number of natures of Christ apparently require much more detailed scholarly consideration than outlined here. I consider this brief article as only an introduction to this area.

‘Fear of God’ as the Foundation of Morality in the Ethical Writings of Medieval Arabophone Christian Authors Ayse ICOZ, Marmara University, Istanbul, Turkey

ABSTRACT Ethical writings produced by Arabic speaking Christians are intriguing examples of Christian Arabic literature. This article examines a common theme in the ethical works of two select medieval Christian authors who were the members of the Church of the East in the late tenth and early eleventh century, namely Elias of Nisibis (d. 1046) and ‘Amr ibn Mattā (ca. 1050). Elias of Nisibis’ Kitāb Daf’ al-Hamm (The Book of Elimination of Grief) is written to provide a scheme of dealing with unwanted anxiety. The first chapter of this book is entitled as ‘The Merit of Godliness and the Defect of Impiety’. In this part, he depicts the essence of devoutness as ‘fear of God’ and explains its benefits in detail to achieve a virtuous life. ‘Amr ibn Mattā is the author of the voluminous theological encyclopaedia called Kitāb al Majdal (The Book of Tower). The fourth chapter of the Kitāb al-Majdal is divided into seven subsections, each of which deals with a certain spiritual or moral practice. The first section of the fourth chapter in this work is entitled ‘al-taqwā’ (piety/fear of God) where the author describes ‘fear of God’ as the compulsory element of moral development. Considering both the Islamic intellectual setting and the Christian backgrounds of the authors and focusing on the different aspects of the texts including linguistic features, sources, and possible audiences, this article examines how ‘fear of God’ is explained in these two medieval Christian Arabic writings. The conclusion reached at the end is that both authors creatively employed the traditional Christian sources and Islamic material to encourage their fellow religionists to lead a virtuous life essentially motivated by the ‘fear of God’.

The Islamic conquests started a new era for the Christians who were living in the conquered lands. The political shift resulted in a new socio-political and intellectual environment to which they had to adjust.1 From an intellectual point 1 For a guide to the Islamic conquests and their socio-political results, see Ira M. Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies (Cambridge, 2002), 31-56. For the various aspects of Christian engagement and interaction with Islamic culture, see Sidney Griffith, The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque (Princeton, 2008). For examples of cultural exchange, see David M. Freidenreich and Miriam Goldstein (eds), Beyond Religious Borders: Interaction and Intellectual Exchange in the Medieval Islamic World (Philadelphia, 2011). For an example of the reception of Muslim conquests of Mesopotamia by Oriental Christians, see Sebastian Brock, ‘North Mesopotamia in

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of view, adopting Arabic as their literary language was one of the earliest reactions of Christians to the new setting. From the eighth century, they started producing Arabic works in various genres and styles, from Bible commentaries to philosophical treatises.2 Christian authors engaged with their new surrounding environment, which was dominated by Islam, in various ways, which can be observed in the language, structure, and contents of their works.3 This article focuses on a common theme in the ethical works of two authors who were members of the Church of the East in the late tenth century, namely Elias of Nisibis (1046) and ‘Amr ibn Mattā (ca. 1050). In order to analyse the function of the ‘fear of God’ in their moral teachings, Elias of Nisibis’ The Book of Elimination of Grief (Kitāb Daf’ al-Hamm) and the fourth chapter of ‘Amr ibn Mattā’s The Book of the Tower (Kitāb al-Majdal), entitled ‘the Lamps’ (‘al-Maṣābīḥ’), will be examined.4 One of the striking features of Elias’ ethical works is his use of Sufi sources in these texts.5 Similarly, ‘Amr ibn Mattā entitles the first section of the fourth chapter in his Kitāb al-Majdal as “al-taqwā”, a concept which has been considered as one of the indispensable elements of moral development in Sufi

the Late Seventh Century: Book XV of John Bar Penkāyē’s Rish Melle’, Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 9 (1987), 51-75. 2 For an overview of Christian Arabic literature, see Samir Khalil Samir, ‘Christian Arabic Literature in the Abbasid Period’, in M.J.L. Young, J.D. Latham and R.B. Serjeant (eds), Religion, Learning and Science in the ‘Abbasid Period (Cambridge, 1990), 446-59. 3 For a few examples of enculturation in the writings of Arabophone Christian authors, see, for example, Samir Khalil Samir, ‘The Earliest Arab Apology for Christianity (c. 750)’, in id. and Jørgen S. Nielsen (eds), Christian Arabic Apologetics during the Abbasid Period (750-1258) (Leiden, 1994), 56-114; Sidney Griffith, ‘Islam and The Summa Theologiae Arabica: Rabī’ I, 264 AH’, Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 13 (1990), 225-64; id., ‘The Muslim Philosopher al-Kindi and his Christian Readers: Three Arab Christian Texts on “The Dissipation of Sorrows”’, Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 78 (1996), 111-27. 4 There are two available editions of The Book of Elimination of Grief by Elias of Nisibis, Kitāb Daf’ al-Hamm, Qusṭanṭīn al-Bāshā (ed.) (Egypt, 1900), and Elias of Nisibis, Il Libro per Scacciare la Preoccupazione (Kitāb Daf‘ al-hamm), ed. and trans. Anna Pagnini and Samir Khalil Samir (Torino, 2007-2008). This study is based on Bāshā’s edition. ‘Amr ibn Matta’s Kitāb al-Majdal is only partially edited. For this article, the earliest and most complete copy of Kitab al-Majdal held in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France is used; see Māri ibn Suleiman, Kitāb al-Migdal. Manuscript. 13th century. Arabe 190. Manuscrits Arabes, Manuscrits Chrétiens. Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris. 5 For the employment of Sufi sources in the second chapter of The Book of Elimnation of Grief, see Ayse Icoz, ‘Defining a Christian Virtue in the Islamic Context: the Concept of Gratitude in Elias of Nisibis’ Kitāb Daf῾ al-Hamm’, Ilahiyat Studies 9 (2018), 165-82, 175-9; Samir Khalil Samir and Sidney Griffith also point to the citations from Sufi authors in another ethical work by Elias entitled Risālah fī faḍīlat al-‘afāf’, see Samir Khalil Samir, ‘Un auteur chrétien de langue arabe, Elie de Nisibe’, Islamochristiana 3 (1977), 257-84, 279; Sidney Griffith, ‘The Virtue of Continence (al-‘iffah) and the “Perfect Man” (al-insān al-kāmil): An Islamochristian Inquiry in Abbasid Religious and Philosophical Circles’, in Martin Tamcke (ed.), Gotteserlebnis und Gotteslehre: Christliche und Islamische Mystik im Orient (Wiesbaden, 2010), 25-47, 36.

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teachings.6 Thus, the authors’ engagement with the Sufi literature and the ways in which they employed the Sufi material in the first section of their ethical works are the subsidiary issues which will be addressed in order to provide a comprehensive picture of how the concept of the “fear of God” is explained in these texts. Elias of Nisibis and His The Book of Elimination of Grief Elias of Nisibis, who served as the Metropolitan Bishop of Nisibis between the years 1008 and 1046, was one of the most influential intellectual figures of the eleventh century. Being proficient in both the Syriac and Arabic languages, he produced works on a wide range of subjects, including theological treatises on Christian doctrines, history, canon law, and Syriac grammar. He was born in 975 into a Christian family in a town called Shennā, along the left bank of the Tigris River, near the mouth of the River Zab.7 He served as a priest of the Church of the East from the year 994 until he was appointed as the Bishop of Beth Nuhadra in 1002. Six years later, he was designated as the metropolitan bishop of Nisibis, and he held that position until he passed away in 1046.8 Besides his successful clerical career, he was also actively involved in the intellectual affairs of his age as a passionate defender of the Christian faith. His seven-chapter The Book of Sessions (Kitāb al-Majālis), which contains the records of meetings between him and the contemporaneous vizier Abū al-Qāsim al-Ḥusayn ibn ‘Alī al-Maghribī (d. 1027), is perhaps the most well-known record of his apologetic enterprises. It contains discussions between him and the vizier on various subjects ranging from the Christian faith and its doctrines to a comparison of the Arabic and Syriac languages.9 Elias produced a few works that can be considered in the field of ethics. Apart from The Book of Elimination of Grief, another important work on morality 6 For a detailed description of the concept of taqwā in Islamic tradition see Leonard Lewisohn, ‘taḳwā’, in Peri J. Bearman, Thierry Bianquis, Clifford E. Bosworth, Emeri van Donzel and Wolfhart P. Heinrichs (eds), Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, 12 vol., XII, 781-5, for the function of taqwā in Sufi’s moral and spiritual journey see 783-5. 7 Jean Baptiste Chabot (ed.), Synodicon Orientale: Recueil de Synodes Nestoriens (Paris, 1902), 683. 8 For more information on his biography, see Eliae Metropolitae Nisibeni Opus Chronologicum, ed. and trans. Ernest W. Brooks and Jean Baptiste Chabot, 2 vol., CSCO 62 (Louvain, 1909-1910), II 225, 228-9; S. Khalil, ‘Un auteur chrétien’ (1977), 257-84. 9 For a fuller account of Elias and his works, see Georg Graf, Geschichte der Christlichen Arabischen Literatur, 5 Volumes (Vatican City, 1947), II 177-89. For the list of the editions and the translations of Kitab al-Majālīs, see Juan Pedro Monferrer Sala, ‘Kitāb al-majālis’, in David Thomas, Alex Mallet (eds), Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History, 14 vols. (Leiden, 2010), II 730.

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is his letter entitled The Letter on the Superiority of Chastity (Risālah fī faḍīlat al-‘afāf).10 This letter was written as a response to his brother, Abū Sa‘d Manṣūr ibn ‘Īsa, who asked for his help in understanding a passage in the Muslim theologian and littérateur al-Jāhiz’s The Book of Animals (Kitāb al-Ḥayawān), wherein he claims that men are not able to stop desiring and needing women by their nature, and that God, who is most merciful and compassionate, would not burden His creatures to refrain from something for which He put desire in their hearts.11 Elias divides his letter into four main parts, explaining the issues related to the possibility of self-control and the superiority of celibacy over marriage. In the final part, he recounts the words of monks, Sufis, and wise men on the subject of chastity.12 The Book of Elimination of Grief takes the form of a booklet, which consists of twelve chapters, each focusing on a certain virtue and its opposite blameworthy actions to eliminate grief from the human soul. Elias treats grief as a disease of the soul that should be cured. He divides grief into two distinct categories, as the ‘general’ griefs that come from God and the ‘specific’ ones that occur as a result of the individual’s own misguided actions. Thus, the first types of grief can be cured when certain religious practices are followed. The second types of grief can be prevented if certain rational virtues are obtained. Elias structures his work according to this rationale and divides the virtues into two distinct categories as the ‘religious’ ones, which constitutes the first six virtues, and the ‘rational’ ones, constituting the latter six.13 At the beginning of the work, it is stated that each chapter has three main elements: the definition of the relevant virtue, words of wise men to encourage readers to obtain the said virtue, and examples from the lives of prominent individuals who gained benefits from practising it.14 Thus, each chapter starts with a short description of the relevant virtue and its opposite blameworthy act. He then provides a list of advantages that one can achieve by practising that particular virtue. The rest of the text mainly consists of anonymous citations introduced by ‘some wise men said’ or simply ‘it is said’. Elias employs a wide range of sources, from the words of philosophers to Biblical verses. At the beginning of his work he admits that he benefitted from a work of the Muslim scholar Abū Ya῾qūb ibn ‘Isḥāq al-Kindī, entitled Treatise on the Art of Dispelling Sorrows. The title of the work and his approach to the classification of griefs highlight his indebtedness to al-Kindī’s work.15 In terms

10 George Rahma provides a non-critical edition of the text in George Rahma, ‘Risālafi fadilat al-’afāf’, al-Machriq 62 (1968), 3-74. 11 Abū ῾Uthmān ῾Amr ibn Baḥr al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-Ḥayawān, 7 vol. (Cairo, 1938-1945), I 128. 12 For an analysis of Elias’ Risālah, see S. Griffith, ‘The Virtue of Continence’ (2010), 25-47. 13 Elias of Nisibis, Kitāb Daf’ al-Hamm (1900), 6-7. 14 Ibid. 8. 15 S. Griffith, ‘The Muslim Philosopher’ (1996), 123.

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of religious sources, he often refers to Biblical verses as well as the words of Christian and Muslim sages.16 ‘Fear of God’ in The Book of Elimination of Grief The first chapter in Elias’ The Book of Elimination of Grief is entitled ‘The Merit of Godliness and the Defect of Impiety’, and it starts with a description of godliness as follows: The first characteristic from the traits which helps eliminating sorrow is piety. It is fear of God and following his commandments, good faith and benevolence. The fruit of this state is having patience and good character. When these two traits exist, they enable one’s worldly affairs to be straightforward and decreases [eliminates] their grief. The opposite of piety is disobedience, that is neglecting God, abandoning his commandments and having weak faith and evil heart.17

It is very clear from this passage that ‘fear of God’ is the essential aspect of the piety that he describes. The emphasis on ‘fear’ can be observed in various ways throughout the text. For example, elsewhere he divides fear into two categories as ‘the appreciated fear’ and ‘the shameful fear’. Accordingly, the appreciated fear helps one to get close to God and follow His commandments, whereas shameful fear leads one into disobedience. This is the fear of demons and Satan, who actually know that there is a Creator and that He will punish them for their disobedience, and they are afraid of the punishment rather than God.18 Indeed, it is not surprising to see the discourse of reward and punishment in the context of fear of God and piety in the text. The connection between ‘fear of God’ and ‘piety’ can also be observed in the author’s word choice throughout this chapter. On several occasions, Elias encourages his readers to perform taqwā. For example, he mentions a king from Yemen who advised his son to practise taqwā, or some scholars who similarly encouraged their children to perform taqwā.19 The word taqwā comes from the root w-q-y in Arabic, which has meanings connected to ‘avoidance’. In AraboIslamic tradition, the term has various meanings connected to its original root, depending on the context, such as ‘God-fearing’, ‘piety’, ‘devoutness’, and ‘pious abstinence’.20 It is commonly used to refer to ‘God-fearing piety’ in Islamic 16

For the employment of hadith quotations and Sufi teachings in the second chapter of The Book of Elimnation of Grief, see A. Icoz, ‘Defining a Christian Virtue’ (2018), 175-9. 17 Elias of Nisibis, Kitāb Daf’ al-Hamm (1900), 8-9. 18 Ibid. 15. 19 Ibid. 12, 17, 19. 20 For more detailed information about the meaning of taqwā in the Qur’an, see Erik S. Ohlander, ‘Fear of God (taqwā) in the Qur’an: Some Notes on the Semantic Shift and Thematic Context’, Journal of Semitic Studies 50 (2005), 137-52.

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tradition and Elias seems to be comfortable employing the term to encourage piety in his own text. In order to promote devoutness, Elias recounts various benefits that one can obtain by obeying God. He is careful to make it clear that leading a virtuous and pious life would improve both one’s worldly and one’s eschatological situation and bring happiness. To emphasize this, he quotes the first twelve verses of Deuteronomy 28, wherein the blessings of following God’s commandments in this world are explained in detail. Another well-known Biblical verse that he quotes in this particular context is ‘Fear of God is the beginning of wisdom’.21 The passage continues with references emphasizing the necessity and benefits of fearing God and following His commandments. The use of the Wisdom books of the Bible is striking here.22 Another important aspect of Elias’ text to be noted here is his societal concern. According to Elias, the contentment of God relies on the contentment of other human beings. Thus, one should always treat other people in the way that he wants to be treated himself. To elucidate this point, he refers to a certain monk in the text, to whom was asked: ‘How may a person obtain the contentment of God?’ The monk says that God’s contentment hinges upon the contentment of other human beings. Thus, one who desires to please God should not upset, slander, or lie to others. They should not cause harm or sadden or feel jealous of others. Essentially, they should treat others in the way that they want to be treated themselves. Whoever achieves this, completes his piety.23 Elias often provides references to the words of monks and hermits, and there is an emphasis on ascetic practices in the text. This attitude can be observed in the whole work as the seventh chapter of his The Book of Elimination of Grief is devoted to the benefits of following mental pursuits and avoiding worldly passions.24 In general, the first chapter of Elias’ work, which focuses on piety, contains various elements including the fear of God, the observance of laws, detachment from the world, and the maintenance of good relations with other members of society. Fear of God is presented as the key motivational factor that will encourage the readers to improve their piety. The text aims at providing guidance to improve both the reader’s worldly and eschatological life. Similarly, while trying to please God, they are advised to not neglect other members of society and to be kind to them. This is the only way that they can obtain happiness in this world and the afterlife.

21 22 23 24

Elias of Nisibis, Kitāb Daf’ al-Hamm (1900), 10. Prov. 9:10; Ps. 111:10. Ibid. 10-1. For example, he refers to Sir. 33:1 and Prov. 9:10-1. Ibid. 16. Addressing the golden rule of Christian ethics summarized in Matt. 7:12. Ibid. 47-63.

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‘Amr ibn Matta and His The Book of Tower As is the case for many Christian scholars of this period, very little is known about the late tenth century author ‘Amr ibn Mattā, who was the author of The Book of Tower (Kitāb al-Majdal).25 In his Misbāḥ al-Ẓulma (‘The Lamp of the Darkness’), the 13th-century Coptic historiographer Abū al-Barakāt devotes an entry to Kitāb al-Majdal in the section on the ‘Nestorians’ and attributes the work to ‘Amr ibn Mattā Tirhānī, indicating the author’s hometown as Tirhān, which was one of the dioceses of the Church of the East from the sixth to the fourteenth century.26 It was situated in the southwest of the metropolitan province of the Beth Garmaī region, which covered the area around what is now the city of Kirkuk in modern Iraq. The area was surrounded by many prominent ecclesiastical centres and approximately fifteen miles away from the city of Baghdad, the capital of the caliphate and one of the intellectual hubs of the time.27 According to his own testimony, he had been failing to actively practise his faith and he enjoyed the sweetness of the life until a certain point at which he felt that death was approaching and that he had done very little to safeguard 25 Kitāb al-Majdal was initially attributed to the 12th-century author Mari ibn Suleiman by several authors, including Assemani and Henrico Gismondi, who edited the section on the history of the Church of the East in the fifth chapter of Kitāb al-Majdal. George Graf epitomizes the views of the earlier scholars on the authorship and the date of Kitāb al-Majdal and attributes it to Mari ibn Suleiman. Contemporary scholar Bo Holmberg recently challenged the traditional view of the authorship and the date of the work. Based on his close study of the manuscripts of Kitāb al-Majdal that are either attributed to ‘Amr ibn Matta or anonymous, he proposed that Kitāb alMajdal was written by ‘Amr ibn Mattā, who lived around the late tenth or early eleventh century. Holmberg’s theory is based on the textual analysis of the manuscripts of Kitāb al-Majdal and mostly followed by contemporary scholars. For example, Kitāb al-Majdal is included in the second volume of the Bibliographic History of Christian Muslim Relations, which covers the period between 900 and 1050 CE; see Mark Swanson, ‘Kitāb al-Majdal’, in David Thomas and Alex Mallet (eds), Christian-Muslim Relations, A Bibliographical History, 14 vol. (Leiden, 2010), II 627-32; Nikolai Seleznyov, ‘These Stones Shall be for a Memorial: The Discussion of the Abolition of Circumcision in the Kitab al-Magdal’, in Basil Lourié and Nikolai N. Seleznyov (eds), Scrinium X, Syrians and the Others: Culture of the Christian Orient in the Middle Ages (Piscataway, 2014), 115-48, 115. For a condensed summary of the traditional views on the authorship and the date of the work, see Joseph Simon Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis ClementinoVaticana, 4 vol. (Rome, 1719-1728), III 554-5; Henrico Gismondi (ed.), Maris Amri et Slibae de Patriarchis Nestorianorum Commentaria (Rome, 1896), V; Georg Graf, Geschichte der Christlichen Arabischen Literatur, 5 vol. (Vatican City, 1947), III 200. For a detailed evaluation of the traditional view and the proposition of Bo Holmberg on the date and the authorship of Kitāb al-Majdal, see Bo Holmberg ‘A Reconsideration of the Kitab al-Magdal’, Parole de l’Orient 18 (1993), 255-73. 26 Shams al-Ri᾿āsa Abū l-Barakāt ibn Kabar, Misbāḥ al-ẓulma fī īḍāḥ al-khidma, ed. Samir Khalil Samir, 2 vol. (Cairo, 1971-1998), I 297-300. 27 David Wilmshurst, The Ecclesiastical Organisation of the Church of the East, 1318-1913, CSCO 582 (Leuven, 2000), 175.

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his situation in the afterlife. He then decided to write The Book of Tower to explain the issues concerning the church and the rules of religion.28 Following this, he lived long enough to finish his voluminous theological encyclopaedia, comprising almost one thousand pages, the earliest known example of its kind written by Arabophone Christians. The work is divided into seven main chapters, each of which focuses on a certain topic regarding various aspects of the Christian faith, doctrines, and Church history. The first chapter is entitled ‘the Statement’ (al-Bayān) and it explain the issues related to faith. The second chapter is called ‘the Buildings’ (al-Bunyān), divided into three subsections dealing with the Christian doctrines of the Incarnation and the Trinity. The third chapter, ‘the Pillars’ (al-Arkān), focuses on certain symbols and practices of Christianity. The fourth chapter, which is the main focus in this paper, is entitled ‘the Lamps’ (al-Maṣābīḥ) and it deals with Christian ethics and virtues. In the fifth chapter of the work, ‘the Buttresses’ (al-‘Amad), the author focuses on the history of the world and Christianity starting from creation to his own time. The sixth and seventh chapters are entitled ‘the Canals’ (al-Jadāwil) and ‘the Gardens’ (al-Ḥadāiq), dealing with certain Christian beliefs and practices such as turning towards the east while praying and the abolishment of the laws of Moses, respectively. The text has a peculiar style and language, which is striking at first glance. Each chapter represents a part of a castle in accordance with the title of the book, which reflects the apologetic purpose of the author. The text is composed of Arabic rhyming prose (saj‘) and is highly rich in terms of metaphors and rhetorical figures. Perhaps another important detail regarding the language of the text is the author’s widespread use of Qur’anic vocabulary.29 These features make The Book of Tower remarkable among other Christian Arabic works. The fourth chapter of the work is entitled ‘the Lamps’ (al-Maṣābīḥ), consisting of seven subsections, each of which deals with a certain religious or moral practice, including piety, love, prayer, fasting, mercy, humility, and purity. Similar to Elias’ text, each section starts with the benefits of the relevant virtue in rhyming prose. ‘Amr then turns to cite Biblical verses to support his point and encourage his readers to follow the relevant practices. Throughout the text, he does not seem to be interested in making any arguments, as the text consists of short didactic statements that promote certain religious virtues in order to persuade the reader to practise them. 28

Ms. Arabe 190, f. 13r. For Holmberg’s remarks on the language of the Kitab al-Majdal, see Bo Holmberg, ‘Language and Thought in Kitāb al-Majdal, Bāb 2, Fasl 1, al-Dhurwa’, in David Richard Thomas (ed.), Christians at the Heart of Islamic Rule: Church Life and Scholarship in ‘Abbasid Iraq (Leiden, 2003), 159-73. 29

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‘Fear of God’ in ‘the Lamps’ Chapter of The Book of Tower The first subsection in this chapter is entitled ‘the piety’. ‘Amr employs the Arabic word al-taqwā as the title of this section, which conveys a connotation of ‘fear of God’.30 It is the longest section of ‘the Lamps’ chapter, and similar to Elias’ text, it contains various elements. The chapter starts with the benefits of taqwā in rhyming prose. The main body contains various topics connected to piety, including discourses on reward and punishment, recommended ascetic practices, and a list of virtues and vices. The unique aspect of this chapter is its lists of praiseworthy and blameworthy acts, which are presented within three main categories as ‘commendable [acts]’, ‘impermissible [acts]’, and ‘unpleasant [acts]’.31 Each list contains forty elements in total. The first list focuses on the virtues, while the latter two deal with the vices. These different elements make this initial section one of the most voluminous parts of ‘the Lamps’ chapter. At the beginning of this section, ‘Amr starts by recounting the benefits of taqwā: Taqwā is the light [nūr] of guidance [hudā] and the source of benefits. Its immediate effect is getting hold of the bridle of the human ego [zamām al-nafs] and its ultimate impact is achieving the blessings of Paradise. Through taqwā, the good ways of service [khidmah] are followed and the condition of purified creatures [khalāiq al-‘ismah] is achieved. Taqwā consummates [one’s] trustworthiness, tenderness, and [moral] soundness. It stimulates [one’s] generosity and leads [one] to dignity and integrity.32

According to ‘Amr, taqwā has three main benefits for an individual: improving his piety, allowing him to enter Paradise in the afterlife, and advancing his moral qualities. Thus, similar to Elias’ text, taqwā’s benefits for an individual appear to be twofold, comprising the mundane, such as advancing the individual’s piety and improving his moral qualities, and the eschatological, such as enabling one to reach Paradise in the afterlife. Following the benefits of taqwā, ‘Amr turns to recounting the advantages of the ‘fear of God’, and it seems that he uses these two terms interchangeably. This passage starts with the citation of the same Biblical verse that appeared in Elias’ text: ‘Fear of God is the beginning of wisdom’. According to ‘Amr, like taqwā, the ‘fear of God’ helps one to improve one’s mundane and eschatological lives, bringing happiness and success and improving one’s piety and obedience. Another common aspect regarding ‘taqwā’ and ‘fear of God’ in the text can be mentioned here. At the beginning of the passage in which ‘Amr recounts the benefits of taqwā, he depicts it as the ‘light of guidance’. When he turns to 30 For a detailed study of ‘fear of God’ in the Kitāb al-Majdal, see Ayse Icoz, Christian Morality in the Language of Islam: The Case of al-Maṣābīḥ Chapter in the Kitāb al-Majdal (PhD dissertation) (University of Birmingham, 2017), 105-12. 31 Ms. Arabe 190, f. 164v-5v. 32 Ibid. f. 152r.

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explain the benefits of ‘fear of God’, he depicts it as the ‘lamp of knowledge’. In both cases, the metaphor of ‘light’ is striking. The ‘light’ metaphor is used by earlier Syriac mystics to address ‘divine light’ and its appearance is not a coincidence in this text. Elsewhere in the same section, ‘Amr explains that through knowledge of God and adequate acts the peace of the soul and the emptiness of the heart and purification of mind are achieved. When the soul is purified, it receives ‘light from God’s light and draws close to Him through the light which it takes from Him’.33 This is clearly the reflection of a common theme that appears in the writings of earlier Syriac authors such as John of Dalyatha (ca. 780) and Ephrem (d. 373).34 Another distinctive theme in ‘the Lamps’ is the emphasis on the controlling of the human ego. Throughout the text, an ascetic is often depicted as an example of an ideal virtuous person, and his distinctive features are explained several times in various contexts. Although the section is about taqwā, ‘Amr puts more emphasis and spends more time on describing different aspects and benefits of ascetic life. Asceticism, which is expressed with the Arabic term zuhd, literally meaning detachment, stands at the centre of the text and is very closely connected to piety and fear of God. Ascetic practices, such as refraining from worldly pleasures and controlling the human ego, are often mentioned as ideal behaviours, which will improve one’s devoutness and enable one to achieve ideal moral status. An intriguing concept appears a few times when ‘Amr attempts to emphasize the importance of resisting worldly desires in the text. He employs the term jihād in a superlative form to address the internal struggle. He says: ‘The result of following passions [shahawāt] is destruction. The best jihād [afḍal al-jihād] is the one against the desires [al-hawā] and the most powerful strength is eliminating the passions [shahawāt]’.35 This use of the term reminds us of one of the hadiths of the Prophet Muhammad describing jihād. In this hadith, the Prophet says: ‘The best jihād [afḍal al-jihād] is [to speak out about] justice in front of a tyrannical ruler’.36 This hadith became a part of the basis for the spiritual interpretation of the concept of jihād in Islamic tradition and is cited by many prominent Sufis in their writings to promote ‘inner struggle’ as a form 33

Ibid. f. 159v. Ibid. f. 152r. For a brief description of John of Dalyatha’s analogy of light, see Sebastian Brock, ‘Some Prominent Themes in the Writings of the Syriac Mystics of the 7th/8th Century AD (1st/ 2nd cent. H)’, in Martin Tamcke (ed.), Gotteserlebnis und Gotteslehre: Christliche und Islamische Mystik im Orient (Wiesbaden, 2010), 49-59, 51-3. For a detailed discussion of the analogy of light in Ephrem’s theology, see Sebastian Brock, The Luminous Eye: The Spiritual World Vision of Saint Ephrem (Dubuque, 1992). 35 Ms. Ar. 190 f. 163v. 36 Abū Dāwūd Sulaymān ibn al-Ash‘ath ibn Isḥāq al-Azdī, Sunan Abu Dawud, ed. Hafiz Abu Tahir Zubair Ali Zai, trans. Yaser Qadhi, 5 vol. (Riyadh, 2008), IV 542 (Hadith No: 4344); Abū ῾Īsā Muḥammad ibn ῾Īsā as-Sulamī aḍ-Ḍarīr al-Būghī al-Tirmidhī, Jāmi‘ al-Tirmidhī, trans. Abu Khaliyl, 6 vol. (Riyadh, 2007), IV 233 (Hadith No: 2174). 34

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of jihād.37 ‘Amr’s use of this particular concept suggests that he was aware of this discourse and felt fully at ease employing it to emphasize the importance of self-control in his text. The concept of piety in ‘the Lamps’ chapter is explained in the text as a spiritual condition that helps a believer to advance his morality and leads him to both worldly and eternal happiness. Similar to Elias’ text, fear of God, asceticism, and following God’s commands are the central themes, along with piety, in this section of the work. Throughout the text, ‘Amr employs scriptural quotes and certain Christian and Islamic concepts to promote piety in his work. Evaluation When these two texts are considered together, although they have certain linguistic and stylistic differences, they have some shared features. They are both composed of short didactic statements, Biblical verses, and sayings of earlier wise men. The twofold worldly and eschatological concern is evident in both the content and the structure of these writings. Another common aspect of the texts is that they both promote some ascetic practices for reaching an ideal moral and religious state. In this way, they resemble adab literature in the Arabo-Islamic tradition.38 Certainly, it is not surprising to see the theme of ‘fear of God’ embedded to the concept of ‘piety’ in these writings, as it is one of the central themes in the Bible and it appears in both Old Testament and New Testament verses in various contexts.39 Furthermore, it is not a novelty to see the concept of ‘fear of God’ in the writings of earlier Syriac authors, such as Ephrem and Aphrahat (ca. 345).40 As has been shown, Biblical verses and patristic material are effectively used by Elias and ‘Amr in their texts. Perhaps the most unusual aspect of their approach is employing ‘fear of God’ as the foundation of their ethical teachings. This approach can be directly ascribed to the environment in which they produced their works. 37 Al-Qushayrī provides a detailed explanation of the spiritual interpretation of the concept of jihād, quoting the hadith at the beginning of the chapter on mujāhadah in his Risālah. See Imam Abū al-Qāsim al-Qushayrī, Risālah al-Qushariyyah, ed. Abdulhalem Mahmod and Mahmud ibn Sharif (Cairo, 1989), 188-93. 38 For examples of adab literature in the field ethics, see Francesco Chiabotti, Eve FeuilleboisPierunek, Catherine Mayeur-Jaouen and Luca Patrizi (eds), Ethics and Spirituality in Islam: Sufi Adab (Leiden, 2016). 39 For the connection between the ‘fear of God’ and ‘piety’, see Gerhard J. Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren (eds), Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, 16 vol., Vol. VI 297-9; for the ethical connotation of the concept of the ‘fear of God’ in the Old Testament see 309-14. 40 Ephrem deals with the fear of God separately in his sermons; see Edmund Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Sermones III, 2 vol. (Louvain, 1972), II 1-12. Aphrahat directly addresses the ‘fear of God’ in his Demonstrations 23:1-2, see Jean Parisot (ed.), Patrologia Syriaca, 2 vol. (Paris, 1907), II 4-5.

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Addressing the ‘fear of God’ or taqwā as the initial issue for moral teachings can be seen especially in the writings of Sufi authors. An immediate example is the ninth century mystic Ḥārith al-Muḥāsibī (d. 857) and his The Book of Observance of the Laws of God and Their Practice (Kitāb al-Ri’āya li Huqūq Allah wa al-Qiyām bihā). The first chapter focuses on the observance of law, while the second chapter deals with different aspects of taqwā, entitled Chapter on the Discernment of Taqwā and its Nature (Bāb Ma’rifah al-Taqwā wa mā Hiya).41 Similarly, Ibn Abi ‘l-Dunyā (d. 894), who is known to have had ascetic tendencies, addresses taqwā at the beginning of his ethical work, Qualities of Noble Character (Makārim al-Akhlāq), under the subheading of The Most Honourable People in the Sight of God (Akram al-Nās ‘Inda Allāh). According to him, they are the ones who fear Him most.42 It is very likely that Elias and ‘Amr adopted this approach from Sufi sources, because, as has been mentioned earlier, their engagement with certain Sufi materials can be observed throughout their works. The question of why these two authors preferred this style for their ethical works is beyond the scope of this paper. It appears that they wanted to present Christian ethics in a style and language that they assumed would be familiar to their target audience. The numbers of manuscripts of these works show that the works were widely circulated and were very popular in Christian circles. Elias’ work has more than sixty-six extant copies.43 What is even more striking is that ‘the Lamps’ chapter of The Book of Tower was copied along with the works of two other prominent figures of the eleventh century, namely Suleiman al-Ghazzī and ‘Abdallah ibn al-Faḍl, from the Melkite church, and was circulated separately from The Book of Tower.44 In light of this, it is clear that they were very well received by the Christian community and answered their needs at that time. Conclusion To summarize, these two texts were produced by two members of the Church of the East in order to provide moral and religious guidance for the Christian 41 Ḥārith Ibn Asad al-Muḥāsibī, al-Ri‘āyah li-Ḥuqūq Allah, ed. ‘Abd al-Qādir Aḥmad Aṭā (Beirut, 1985), 34-5. 42 Referring to the Quranic verse 49:13. Ibn Abi ‘l-Dunyā, Makārim al-Akhlāq, ed. Majdi alSayyid Ibrahim (Cairo, 1990), 18-9. 43 Samir Khalil, ‘Un auteur chrétien’ (1977), 280. 44 ‘The Lamps’ chapter was partially copied in the manuscript entitled Kitāb al-Māṣābīḥ, which was initially attributed to the Melkite author Abdallah ibn al-Faḍl. Examining the available copies of Kitāb al-Māṣābīḥ, Treiger discovered that it is not a separate work but rather a collection of excerpts from various ethical works of Arabophone Christian authors. For more details, see Alexander Treiger, ‘Kitāb al-Maṣābīḥ’, in David Thomas (ed.), Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographic History (Leiden, 2010), accessed 23 October 2019. http://referenceworks.brillonline. com/entries/christian-muslim-relations-i/kitab-al-masabih-COM_25041

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community within the same time frame around the end of the tenth century. There are certain parallels in their style, structure, and content. ‘Amr ibn Mattā and Elias of Nisibis rely on both Biblical and patristic writings and certain Islamic traditional material. The employment of the concept of the ‘fear of God’ embedded in the notion of ‘piety’ in the initial chapters of their works can be attributed to the intellectual environment in which they produced these works. In this way, they reflect the creativity of the authors who made real efforts to present traditional Christian teachings to an audience that seemed to be highly integrated into the new environment that was already shaped by another religion, Islam.

CRITICA ET PHILOLOGICA

The Function of ‘Reading Aids’ in Early New Testament Manuscripts Jan HEILMANN, Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München, Germany

ABSTRACT The assumption that ancient reading almost exclusively was done aloud and in groups cannot be upheld. It is not only based on a romantic view of antiquity that originated in the 19th century, but also a comprehensive review of the sources challenges this common opinion. As readers, which were socialized in a writing system with scriptio continua, can read this script without any cognitive difficulties, the function of the socalled lectional signs or reading aids in early Christian manuscripts must be reassessed. The rough breathing, the trema, and the apostrophe do neither have the exclusive function to facilitate performative or public readings nor do they indicate a ‘liturgical use’ of those texts. In contrast, evaluated against newer insights into cultural comparative studies in cognitive science, these signs have particular functions for word recognition which were helpful for all modi of reading. Thus, from the occurrence of these signs in early Christian manuscripts, one cannot infer their primary context of use.

Introduction Scott D. Charlesworth distinguishes early Christian manuscripts which have been produced in controlled settings for ‘public’ use from such that have been copied in uncontrolled settings for ‘private’ usage. ‘Public manuscripts’, for him, are ‘intentionally produced to be read aloud by lectors in Christian meetings’.1 As the main indicators to identify public manuscripts, he points out ‘sense breaks’, ‘punctuation’, and ‘lectional signs’, which would ‘greatly assist the task of the lector’ of ‘rightly dividing the continuous lines of letters in ancient texts (scriptio continua)’2 during ancient Christian worship.3 Under the term 1 Scott D. Charlesworth, Early Christian Gospels: Their Production and Transmission, Papyrologica Florentina 45 (Florence, 2016), 31. 2 Ibid. 3 These so-called scribal features are commonly seen as a feature of manuscripts which were linked to (official) reading practices in early Christian worship. See e.g. Barbara Aland, ‘Die Rezeption des neutestamentlichen Textes in den ersten Jahrhunderten’, in Jean-Marie Sevrin (ed.), The New Testament in Early Christianity. La réception des écrits néotestamentaires dans le christianisme primitif, Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 86 (Leuven, 1989), 1-38, 29-30; Barbara Aland, ‘The Significance of the Chester Beatty Papyri in Early Church History’, in Charles

Studia Patristica CXXV, 239-248. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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‘lectional signs’, Charlesworth subsumes markings on the level of letters and words, i.e. diacritics such as trema, breathings, accents and apostrophe. In contrast, the absence of these ‘reader’s aids’ in the manuscripts, for him, is an indicator for a private setting.4 A fundamental methodological problem of Charlesworth’s approach is the fragmentary state of most of the papyri he examines. Fragments do not allow for conclusions about the absence of ‘reader’s aids’. In what follows, I focus on the material dimension of the assumed interdependence of specific features in early New Testament manuscripts and early Christian worship. I will challenge assumptions about the implications of scriptio continua for the reading process. Then I will discuss the function of diacritics and apostrophe and give an outline on nomina sacra as well as secondary markings in manuscripts. Reading scriptio continua Greek scriptio continua is not interrelated with vocalized or subvocalized readings. It is commonly proposed that scriptio continua is more difficult to decode compared to texts with spaces between words. Therefore, scriptio continua would need to be decoded by auditory cognition through vocal realization of the text.5 However, this view is based on outdated theories of word recognition, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, on the postulated primacy of orality in ancient societies, specifically on the communis opinio that reading in antiquity almost exclusively was done aloud and in groups. Thus, this common opinion is based on a romantic view of antiquity that originated in the 19th century.6 Horton (ed.), The Earliest Gospels. The Origins and Transmission of the Earliest Christian Gospels The Contribution of the Chester Beatty Gospel Codex P45 (London, New York, 2004), 108-21, 109; Larry W. Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscripts and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids, MI, 2006), 171-85; Michael J. Kruger, ‘Manuscripts, Scribes, and Book Production within Early Christianity’, in Stanley E. Porter and Andrew W. Pitts (eds), Christian Origins and Greco-Roman Culture. Social and Literary Contexts for the New Testament, Text and Editions for New Testament Study 9 (Leiden, 2013), 15-40, 27, n. 69; Timothy N. Mitchell, ‘Christian Papyri and the Ancient Church’, Bibliotheca Sacra 173 (2016), 182-202. 4 See S.D. Charlesworth, Early Christian Gospels: Their Production and Transmission (2016), 31. 5 See, particularly, Paul Henry Saenger, Space between Words: The Origins of Silent Reading, Figurae (Stanford, CA, 1997). Yet this thesis was already proposed by, e.g., Josef Balogh, ‘Voces Paginarum. Beiträge zur Geschichte des lauten Lesens und Schreibens’, Philologus 82 (1927), 84-109, 202-40, 228-9; Wilhelm Schubart, Das Buch bei den Griechen und Römern, 2nd ed. (Berlin, Leipzig, 1921), 80-1; W.B. Sedgwick, ‘Reading and Writing in Classical Antiquity’, The Contemporary Review 135 (1929), 90-4, 93; Henri Irénée Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity (London, 1956), 134; Nancy A. Mavrogenes, ‘Reading in Ancient Greece’, Journal of Reading 23 (1980), 691-7, 693. 6 See Friedrich Nietzsche, Jenseits von Gut und Böse: Vorspiel einer Philosophie der Zukunft (Leipzig, 1886), 207, 382; Eduard Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa vom VI. Jahrhundert v. Chr.

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Of course, there are several events documented in the sources where a person reads a text aloud for others. However, most of these scenes are related to institutionalized contexts in which reading of decrees, resolutions, laws etc. or judgements or texts from the educational canon has (even today) a specific function within the particular institution (e.g., political or military assemblies; court; school; rhetoric training). It is also documented that ancient readers read texts for themselves with vocalization – but then with a special purpose: e.g. for aesthetic pleasure, physical exercise or rhetorical training.7 However, the sources do not allow statistical generalization in the sense of the common opinion outlined above. For methodological reasons one cannot clearly decide, whether someone reads with or without using his voice, if there is no positive evidence in a particular reading scene in the sources. Moreover, the sources clearly show that ancient readers could read with vocalization, subvocalization or without vocalization.8 The latter is not only expressed directly,9 but terminology conceptualizing reading in the sources reflects it variously. This is true particularly for reading conceptualized as seeing,10 reading conceptualized as bis in die Zeit der Renaissance (Leipzig, 1898), 6. For evidence against this thesis, see Bernard M.W. Knox, ‘Silent Reading in Antiquity’, GRBS 9 (1968), 421-35; Alexander K. Gavrilov, ‘Techniques of Reading in Classical Antiquity’, CQ 47 (1997), 56-73; M.F. Burnyeat, ‘Postscript on Silent Reading’, CQ 47 (1997), 74-76; Jesper Svenbro, ‘Archaic and Classical Greece: The Invention of Silent Reading: Die Erfindung des stillen Lesens’, in Guglielmo Cavallo, Roger Chartier and Lydia G. Cochrane (eds), A History of Reading in the West (Oxford, 1999), 37-63; Jesper Svenbro, ‘Stilles Lesen und die Internalisierung der Stimme im alten Griechenland’, in Friedrich Kittler, Thomas Macho and Sigrid Weigel (eds), Zwischen Rauschen und Offenbarung. Zur Kultur- und Mediengeschichte der Stimme (Berlin, 2002), 55-72; Carsten Burfeind, ‘Wen hörte Philippus? Leises Lesen und lautes Vorlesen in der Antike’, ZNW 93 (2002), 138-45; Jesper Svenbro, Phrasikleia: Anthropologie des Lesens im alten Griechenland (München, 2005). 7 See Helmut Krasser, „sine fine lecturias“: Zu Leseszenen und literarischen Wahrnehmungsgewohnheiten zwischen Cicero und Gellius (unveröffentlichte Habilitationsschrift) (Tübingen, 1996), 190-206. 8 For this threefold distinction, see A.K. Gavrilov, ‘Techniques of Reading in Classical Antiquity’ (1997). 9 From the large number of sources referring to non-vocalized or ‘silent’ reading, see, e.g., Aeneas Tacticus 31.4; Alcaeus, Carm. 4.19; Antipanes, Sappho (fr. 194); Athenaeus, Deipn. 10.73 (451A/B); Aristaenetus 1.10.35-42; Aristophanes, Eq. 117-28; Nub. 18-23; Ran. 52-4; Augustine, Conf. 6.3; Dial. 57; Trin. 11.8.15; Chariton, Chaer. 4.5.8-9; Cicero, Tusc. 5.116; Horace, Sat. 1.6.122-3; 2.5.66-9; Plautus, Bacch. 729-995; Plotinus, Enn. 1.4.10; Ptolemy, Krit. 5.1-2; Plutarch, Cat. Min. 19; 59; Brut. 5; Ant. 58; Caes. 11; Lys. 19.5-7; 20.1-4; Sallust, Bell. Jug. 71; Suetonius, Aug. 39.45; Nero 15.1; Tacitus, Ann. 3.16.1; Xenophon, Symp. 4.27. See also the evidence in inscriptions, e.g., SEG 33 1110. 10 See, e.g., Alcidamas, Soph. 28; Aristophanes, Vesp. 97; Athenaeus, Deipn. 4.57 (164C); Demosthenes, or. 52.5-6; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 5.8.2; Herodotus, Hist. 5.59; (Pseudo)-Plato, Ep. 7.344c; Seneca, Ep. 100.3; often attested in inscriptions, e.g., GVI 1620.1-5; IG XII 3 48.1-2; MAMA 7 560.1-4 = ICG 349; for further reading, see Timo Christian, Gebildete Steine: Zur Rezeption literarischer Techniken in den Versinschriften seit dem Hellenismus, Hypomnemata 197 (Göttingen, 2015); see, moreover, the iconographic evidence, e.g., in CVA 16.2, table 67.1 = BAPD 211550; BAPD 208981.

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searching or asking,11 and reading conceptualized as eating and drinking.12 Moreover, the ‘inner reading voice’ is not only reflected in the sources13 but also relevant for reading in our times. It is misleading to understand silent reading as a mere act of scanning a text by which one has direct access to the information. Cognitive neuroscience shows that the phonological center of our brain is involved in every reading process.14 The results of cognitive neuroscience – and of cross-cultural experiments in particular – also demonstrate that readers which were socialized in a writing system with scriptio continua can read this script without any difficulties. The addition of spaces between words even disturbs their reading process physiologically and cognitively. This have been proven repeatedly for modern

11 See, e.g., CAF 3, Anaxippus fr. 1; Athenaeus, Deipn. 9.404B; Athenagoras, Leg. 9.3; Galen, de dignoscendis pulsibus 3.74; Aulus Gelius, Noct. att. 18.4.11; John Chrysostom, Hom. 2Tim. 10.1 [PG 62, 655]; Josephus, Ant. 10.11.7 [281]; Julian, Ep. 25 [428B]; Justin, 1Apol. 1.28.1; Cyril of Alexandria, com. in Ioh. prooem. p. 7.19-8 (ed. Pusey); Theophilus, Ad Autol. 2.34.1-2; Xenophon, Symp. 4.27. 12 See, e.g., Aristophanes, Ach. 484; Artemidorus Daldianus, Onir. 2,45; Cicero, Att. 4.10; Fam. 7.1.1; Lucian, Jupp. trag. 1.20; Polybius 3.57.7-9; Quintilian, Inst. 10.1.19. 13 See Augustine, Conf. 11.6.8; 12.18; 13.29.44; Cicero, Lael. 4; Plutarch, Mor. 961A; Jerome, Comm. Isa. 9.30.9; Makarius, Apokr. 2.17.1. For an earlier periode in the Greek world, see J. Svenbro, Phrasikleia (2005), 147-8; Jesper Svenbro, ‘Archaisches und klassisches Griechenland: Die Erfindung des stillen Lesens’, in Roger Chartier and Guglielmo Cavallo (eds), Die Welt des Lesens. Von der Schriftrolle zum Bildschirm (Frankfurt/Main, New York, Paris, 1999), 59-96, 78-9. Furthermore, to ‘hear’ a text does not coercively mean that someone reads a text aloud or someone else reads it to him. There are several instances (especially in private letter conversations) where ἀκούω/audio simply refers to ‘read’ something (see, e.g., Herodotus, Hist. 1.48; 1.124-5; Ps.-Longinus, Subl. 7; Origen, Cels. 4.53; Clement of Alexandria, Quis div. 42; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.13.5; Galen, De indolentia 52; Libanius, Epist. 414.1; 978.2; 1518.5; Cicero, Att. 6.1.21; 11.8.1; 12.11; Ep. Paul Sen. 4). And it is well-documented that private letters were read mostly without vocalization, see, e.g., Plautus, Pseud. 9-19; Ovid, Epist. 21.3; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. rom. 5.8.2; Ovid, Am. 1.11.15-9; Curtius Rufus 3.6; Josephus, Vita 223; Petronius, Sat. 129. Moreover, the syntagma ἤκουσα xy (Gen.) λέγοντος as an equivalent for the Latin legere apud xy aliquid is the common phrase for indicating a citation. See Dirk M. Schenkeveld, ‘Prose Usages of Ἀκούειν “To Read”’, CQ 42 (1992), 129-41. 14 See, e.g., Christopher A. Kurby, Joseph P. Magliano and David N. Rapp, ‘Those Voices in Your Head: Activation of Auditory Images during Reading’, Cognition 112 (2009), 457-61; Marcela Perrone-Bertolotti, Jan Kujala, Juan R. Vidal et al., ‘How Silent Is Silent Reading? Intracerebral Evidence for Top-Down Activation of Temporal Voice Areas During Reading’, Journal of Neuroscience 32 (2012), 17554-62; Christian A. Kell, Maritza Darquea, Marion Behrens et al., ‘Phonetic Detail and Lateralization of Reading-Related Inner Speech and of Auditory and Somatosensory Feedback Processing during Overt Reading’, Human Brain Mapping 38 (2017), 493-508, as well as the overview in Silvia Brem and Urs Maurer, ‘Ansätze der Kognitiven Neurowissenschaften’, in Ursula Rautenberg and Ute Schneider (eds), Lesen. Ein Handbuch (Berlin, 2015), 3-19; Silvia Brem and Urs Maurer, ‘Lesen als neurobiologischer Prozess’, in Ursula Rautenberg and Ute Schneider (eds), Lesen. Ein Handbuch (Berlin, 2015), 117-40; Ursula Christmann, ‘Kognitionspsychologische Ansätze’, in Ursula Rautenberg and Ute Schneider (eds), Lesen. Ein Handbuch (Berlin, 2015), 21-45.

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readers of the Thai script which is written without spaces between words.15 Analogously to this modern example, word recognition in ancient Greek scriptio continua was guided primarily by unconscious sensitivity to certain letter combinations at the beginning and especially at the end of words. Moreover, there are no references in the ancient sources indicating such difficulties.16 On the contrary, the fact that the Romans replaced their habit of writing scriptio discontinua in the second century CE17 shows that scriptio continua is not 15 See Natsumi Kajii, Tatjana A. Nazir and Naoyuki Osaka, ‘Eye Movement Control in Reading Unspaced Text: The Case of the Japanese Script’, Vision Research 41 (2001), 2503-10; Miia Sainio, Jukka Hyona, Kazuo Bingushi et al., ‘The Role of Interword Spacing in Reading Japanese: An Eye Movement Study’, Vision Research 47 (2007), 2575-84; Xuejun Bai, Guoli Yan, Simon P. Liversedge et al., ‘Reading Spaced and Unspaced Chinese Text: Evidence From Eye Movements’, Journal of Experimental Psychology, Human Perception & Performance 34 (2008), 1277-87; Bene Bassetti and Mehui Lu, ‘Effects of Interword Spacing on Native English Readers of Chinese as a Second Language’, International Review of Applied Linguistics in Language Teaching 54 (2016), 1-22. 16 Scholars commonly refer to a couple sources to prove the assumed difficulty of reading scriptio continua. Cf. M.B. Parkes, Pause and Effect: An Introduction to the History of Punctuation in the West (Berkeley, 1993), 10-1; Alan Mugridge, Copying Early Christian Texts: A Study of Scribal Practice, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 362 (Tübingen, 2016), 71, n. 4; Bernhard Oestreich, Performanzkritik der Paulusbriefe, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 296 (Tübingen, 2012), 67; T.N. Mitchell, ‘Christian Papyri and the Ancient Church’ (2016), 188. Yet none of these sources could carry the burden of proof. a) The Aristotelian characterization of a text as εὐανάγνωστος (well readable) in Rhet. 3.5.6 (1407b12) is not related to the writing system; Aristotle, here, is concerned purely with syntactic and lexical aspects. b) In Comp. 25, Dionysius of Halicarnassus provides not only interesting insights into the awareness of ancient readers of cognitive processing during reading but also a remarkable reflection of his own process of learning to read at the end of which there is a high level of reading competence. See also Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Dem. 52. Reading κατὰ συλλαβὴν καὶ βραδέως belonges to the learning process but do not indicate general difficulties in reading scriptio continua. c) The ability to read ab oculo (see Petronius, Satyr. 75.4) is not something particular, but is a skill that is taught in elementary school. See H. Krasser, „sine fine lecturias“ (1996), 173-4. d) Quintilian, Inst. 1.1.34, definitely does not refer to difficulties of reading a scriptio continua as the Latin script of his time was written with spaces or dots between the words. See n. 17. e) The reading scene in Gellius’ Noctes Atticae (13.31) is satirical and refers to an impostor who has only basic knowledge in reading. However, this has nothing do to with general difficulties in reading scriptio continua. f) Irenaeus, Haer. 3.7.1-2, discusses ambivalences in the Pauline epistles, which arise through awkward syntactical constructions (above all hyperbata). The reader should anticipate these constructions by carefully overviewing the text that follows during short pauses. Yet this also has nothing to do with scriptio continua in general, but probably with missing syntactic punctuation. 17 See Revilo P. Oliver, ‘The First Medicean MS of Tacitus and the Titulature of Ancient Books’, Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 82 (1951), 23261; Rudolf Wolfgang Müller, Rhetorische und syntaktische Interpunktion: Untersuchungen zur Pausenbezeichnung im antiken Latein (Tübingen, 1964); E. Otha Wingo, Latin Punctuation in the Classical Age, Janua linguarum. Series practica 133 (The Hague, 1972). Furthermore, there is also quite a lot of evidence for word separations in Latin documentary papyri and ostraca. See, e.g., SB 16 12609 (debt document; 27 CE); ChLA 10 424 (private letter of recommendation; 1st c. CE); P.Oxy. 44 3208 (private letter; 1st c. BCE/1st c. CE); P.Berol. 7428 (list of veterans,

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a characteristic of deficient writing systems. We should be warned to project our difficulties with reading scriptio continua onto ancient readers.18 Against this background, the function of the so-called lectional signs or reading aids must be reassessed. Characteristics of Early New Testament Manuscripts and their Function for the Reading Process As in other manuscripts of the Hellenistic and early Roman time, breathings are rare in early New Testament manuscripts and if they occur, it is mostly a rough breathing (ⱶ). However, the rough breathings found in the manuscripts are not set randomly but, in the vast majority of cases, indicate a semantic ambiguity in case of monosyllabic words, whereas there are no instances where they purely function as phonetic markers. From this follows, the question of proper phonological realization was not of interest for those who marked ambiguous monosyllabic words.19 Parallels can be found in non-Christian papyri – even in those which were definitely not intended to function as scripts for performative readings.20 More often (or even regularly), one can find the trema/diaeresis in early Christian manuscripts. According to the practice found in other manuscripts of the Hellenistic and early Roman period, one could distinguish, concerning the trema, ‘its “organic” use to separate those vowels in a cluster that do not belong together […] [JH: between or inside words] and its “inorganic” use (very often simply to mark an initial vowel, […] or to emphazise a final vowel […])’.21 140 CE), or the multitudinous private letters from Didymoi dating to the second half of the 1st c. CE, see Adam Bülow-Jacobsen, ‘Writing Materials in the Ancient World’, in Roger S. Bagnall (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology (Oxford, 2009), 3-29: e.g. O.Did. 326; O.Did. 334; O.Did. 362; O.Did. 429. The transition from writing with frequent word separations to the scriptio continua in the Latin script is well documented in the heterogeneous evidence of the Vindolanda tablets (around the turn from 1st/2nd century). See J.N. Adams, ‘The Language of the Vindolanda Writing Tablets: An Interim Report’, JRS 85 (1995), 86-134, 95-6. 18 See Alessandro Vatri, ‘The Physiology of Ancient Greek Reading’, CQ 62 (2012), 633-47. 19 It is not sure whether marking monosyllabic words is a scribal habit or if it goes back to the beginning of the textual transmission. 20 See, e.g., P.Oxy. 15 1809 (1st/2nd c.; Plato, Phaed. 102E with extended scholia in the margins): col. 2.6-5. The diacritical signs might even be from the same hand as the commentary (see CPF I.1***.223); P.Berol. inv. 9782 (2nd c.; commentary manuscript): e.g. Pl. C ro col. 1.1; Pl. O ro col. 3.35; 38. See also P.Berol. inv. 21245, fr. a ro (4th c.; fragments from Isocrates orations), bilingual lat.-gr.; spiritus lenis and acute differentiate the participle ὄντας (εἰμί), which could be confused with the pronoun ὅν and the article τάς especially at the end of the line, and the spiritus on the monosyllabic words ὁυ, ὁ and ὡς in P.Cairo.Masp. 3 67295 (6th c.). 21 Eric G. Turner, Greek Manuscripts of the Ancient World, 2nd ed., Bulletin Supplement 46 (London, 1987), 12-3. For ‘inorganic’ use in New Testament manuscripts, see, e.g., 52 (P.Ryl.

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Instructive is, e.g., the comparison of the use of the trema in John 1:29 in 66 (P. Bodm. II), and 75 (P. Bodmer 14-15), both 3rd c. CE. In 66 f. 3, line 21, one can find a trema on the initial iota of ιδε, although the previous middle dot already indicates the separation of syllables/words (λε-γει·ϊδε). In contrast, 75 has no middle dot in the same place, so the trema actually has the function to indicate a diaeresis. From this evidence, it seems doubtful that the trema is to be categorized as a ‘lectional sign that guides pronunciation’22 or to bring the trema into the context of performative or communal readings. Moreover, the use of the apostrophe in early New Testament papyri is illuminating. The apostrophe functions as a sign indicating an elision. Taking into account that the parafoveal word recognition in scriptio continua is guided primarily by unconscious sensitivity to certain letter combinations at the beginning and especially at the end of the words, the function of the apostrophe becomes clear. If a letter is omitted for phonetic reasons, the apostrophe ensures the usual word recognition. Likewise, considering parafoveal word recognition, one can illuminate the common practice in early New Testament manuscripts to mark the end of indeclinable Semitic names with an apostrophe, which scholars commonly recognize without any further explanation.23 These names are marked with an apostrophe because of the unusual word endings so that the reader could identify them parafoveally. The practice of marking foreign words with an apostrophe is also widespread among documentary papyri.24 Therefore, the apostrophe, too, is neither an aid for reading texts aloud nor a sign used for clarifying pronunciation in the public reading as proposed in scholarship.25 Instead it is meant as an aid for word recognition, which can support the parafoveal perception of Gr. 3 457) vo 2; 5 (P.Oxy. 1 208) f. 1ro 19; 45 (P.Beatty 1) f. 5vo 8 etc.; 459× in 46 (P.Beatty 2; see E.B. Ebojo, ‘When Nonsense Makes Sense’ [2013 – full ref. in n. 23], 134); 66 (P.Bodm. II) f. 1.12; f. 3.13; f. 3.6 etc.; 75 (P.Bodmer 14-15) 44vo; 18 (P.Oxy. 8 1079) vo 14; 22 (P.Oxy. 10 1228) vo 12. 22 Dan Nässelqvist, Public Reading in Early Christianity: Lectors, Manuscripts, and Sound in the Oral Delivery of John 14, Supplements to Novum Testamentum 163 (Leiden, Boston, 2016), 25. Also against Klaus Junack, ‘Abschreibpraktiken und Schreibergewohnheiten in ihrer Auswirkung auf die Textüberlieferung’, in Eldon Jay Epp and Gordon D. Fee (eds), New Testament Textual Criticism. Its Significance for Exegesis. Essays in Honour of Bruce M. Metzger (Oxford, 1981), 277-95, 283. 23 See, e.g., E.G. Turner, Greek Manuscripts of the Ancient World (1987), 8.11. Edgar Battad Ebojo, ‘When Nonsense Makes Sense: Scribal Habits in the Space-Intervals, Sense-Pauses, and Other Visual Features in Formula 46’, The Bible Translator 64 (2013), 128-50, 133, states: ‘The function of which is not immediately ascertainable’. 24 See Rodney Ast, ‘Signs of Learning in Greek Documents: the Case of spiritus asper’, in Gabriel Nocchi Macedo and Maria Chiara Scappaticcio (eds), Signes dans les textes, textes sur les signes. Érudition, lecture et écriture dans le monde gréco-romain (Liège, 2017), 143-57, 151. 25 See Bruce M. Metzger, ‘The Bodmer Papyrus of Luke and John’, The Expository Times 73 (1962), 201-3, 201; Scott D. Charlesworth, ‘Public and Private - Second- and Third-Century Gospel Manuscripts’, in Craig A. Evans and H. Daniel Zacharias (eds), Jewish and Christian

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words when reading aloud, but particularly in different modes of non-vocalized individual reading. In conclusion, the so called ‘reading aids’ in early papyri of the New Testament do neither have the exclusive function to facilitate performative or public readings nor do they indicate a ‘liturgical use’ of those texts.26 From the occurrence of breathings, accents, as well as the trema and the apostrophe in early New Testament manuscripts, one cannot infer their primary context of use. This result is supported by the fact that these features can also be found in non-Christian papyri which were clearly used for study purposes – in grammatical textbooks,27 in manuscripts with commentaries28 or with commenting annotations (in the margin or interlinear).29 Even more impressive are diacritics in lists or other documentary papyri for which the assumption that they had been in use for performative readings is hardly probable. Thus, marking ambiguous monosyllabic words, the use of the apostrophe and the trema do not seem to be the habit of single scribes but rather a general scribal or even cultural convention.30 Scripture as Artifact and Canon, Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 13 (London, 2009), 148-75, 160. 26 See the assesment by D. Nässelquist: ‘Many of the distinctive features – including the lectional signs – that are found in the studied manuscripts do not function as aids to lectors in a public reading context’, D. Nässelqvist, Public Reading in Early Christianity (2016), 53. 27 See the accents in P.Berol. inv. 9917 (around 300). 28 See, e.g., the tremata in P.Berol. 9780 ro (2nd/3rd c.; commentary by Didymos on Demosthenes orations). 29 See, e.g., P.Berol. inv. 13236 (2nd/3rd c.) – a fragment of a codex containing Thucydides, Hist. 2.65.6-8; 65.12; 67.2; 68.1-5; 79.5-6; 80.3-6; 81.1-3; 81.8-82, whose text includes acute, circumflex, grave, breathings and scholia from the same hand. On the scholia, see Kathleen McNamee, Annotations in Greek and Latin Texts from Egypt, American Studies in Papyrology 45 (Oakville, CT, 2007), 444-3. In P.Oxy. 52 3680 (2nd c.; Plato, Theaet.) one can find a commentary from a second hand in the margin that features an apostrophe. See ibid. 351. Further, the evidence in P.Oxy. 15 1808 (2nd c.) is instructive: the fragment from Plato’s Republic contains diacritical signs (e.g., a trema and a spiritus asper) and numerous quickly written margin notes (shorthand and abbreviations). Ibid. 20-1.352, assumes that the margin notes could have been written under time pressure during a lecture or a speech. In this case it would clearly not be a manuscript meant for public reading. In P.Berol. inv. 21355 (2nd c.) there is an apostrophe that indicates an elision in a scholion. In P.Berol. 5865 (3rd/4th c.), the remains of a codex with Aratus scholia, there are tremata, apostrophes, spiritus asper as well as different reference signs (e.g. a small cross and a diple). For this with references to other papyri, see Margaret Maehler, ‘Der „wertlose“ Aratkodex P. Berol. inv. 5865’, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 27 (1980), 19-32. See further P.Oxy. 47 3326 (2nd c.; Plat., Rep.; see McNamee, Annotations in Greek and Latin Texts from Egypt [2007], 352); P.Oxy. 18 2176 (2nd c.; commentary on Hipponax with scholia; see ibid. 265-6). See also the autographical concept of a prose text from the 2nd c. BCE (P.Berol. 11632) which also includes accents. 30 See Sean A. Adams, ‘Mark, Manuscripts, and Paragraphs: Sense-Unit Divisions in Mark 14-16’, in Chris Keith and Dieter Roth (eds), Mark, Manuscripts, and Monotheism. Essays in Honor of Larry W. Hurtado, Library of New Testament Studies 528 (London, 2015), 61-78, 65: ‘The use of sense-unit divisions needs to be viewed as a scribal convention and part of a culturally conditioned writing practice’.

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At the end, the following should be noted. 1) The nomina sacra, which can be found in nearly all early New Testament manuscripts, were intended primarily for visual perception.31 The same is true for the ‘staurogram’ which is an iconographic sign for the crucifixion.32 These signs are no indicator for official use in the worship,33 but need to be interpreted within the broader context of other signs in ancient manuscripts that were intended for visual perception, such as acrostics, letter and alphabet plays, palindromes, pattern poetry and so on.34 2) In my inspection of the manuscripts dated to the second and third centuries, I could only find a few manuscripts with secondary strokes which indeed 31 Beside the still relevant study Anton Herman Reinier Everhard Paap, Nomina Sacra in the Greek Papyri of the First Five Centuries A.D.: The Sources and Some Deductions, Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava 8 (Leiden, 1959), see the overview David Trobisch, Die Endredaktion des Neuen Testaments: Eine Untersuchung zur Entstehung der christlichen Bibel, Novum Testamentum et orbis antiquus 31 (Freiburg, 1996), 17-28, who provides further references. It is pure speculation to assume the nomina sacra were related to illiteracy in early Christianity. Against L.W. Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts (2006), 133; T.N. Mitchell, ‘Christian Papyri and the Ancient Church’ (2016), 192. Moreover, assumptions about mass illiteracy in early Christianity – influenced by the study of William V. Harris, Ancient Literacy (Cambridge, MA, 1989), which problematic implications could not discussed here, and by a socio-romantic conception of early Christianity – remains controversial. See Udo Schnelle, ‘Das frühe Christentum und die Bildung’, NTS 61 (2015), 113-43. 32 See Larry W. Hurtado, ‘The Earliest Evidence of an Emerging Christian Material and Visual Culture: The Codex, the Nomina Sacra, and the Staurogram’, in Michel Desjardins and Stephen G. Wilson (eds), Text and Artifact in the Religions of Mediterranean Antiquity. Essays in Honour of Peter Richardson, Studies in Christianity and Judaism 9 (Waterloo, ON, 2000), 271-88, 280-3; id., ‘The Staurogram in Early Christian Manuscripts: The Earliest Visual Reference to the Crucified Jesus?’, Thomas J. Kraus and Tobias Nicklas (eds), New Testament Manuscripts. Their Texts and Their World, Text and Editions for New Testament Study 2 (Leiden, 2006), 207-26, 219-21, 225-6, with source evidence showing that Christians understood the Greek letter ‘tau’ as a symbol for the cross from very early on (Barn. 9.7-9; Justin, 1Apol. 1.55; 1.60; Terttullian, Marc. 3.22). 33 It is incomprehensible how the visual signs like the nomina sacra and the ‘staurogram’ should have functioned as aids for reading New Testament texts aloud in the worship as C.M. Tuckett, ‘“Nomina Sacra”: Yes and No?’, in Jean-Marie Auwers and H.J. de Jong (eds), The Biblical Canons, Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 163 (Leuven, 2003), 431-58, 455, has proposed. 34 For further reading on this, see Christine Luz, Technopaignia, Formspiele in der griechischen Dichtung, Mnemosyne Supplement 324 (Leiden, Boston, 2010); Jan Kwapisz, David Petrain and Mikołaj Szymański (eds), The Muse at Play: Riddles and Wordplay in Greek and Latin Poetry (Berlin, Boston, 2013); Rodney Ast and Julia Lougovaya, ‘The Art of the Isopsephism in the Greco-Roman World’, in Andrea Jördens (ed.), Ägyptische Magie und ihre Umwelt (Wiesbaden, 2015), 82-98; Rachel Mairs, ‘“Proclaiming It to Greeks and Natives, along the Rows of the Chequer-Board”: Readers and Viewers of Greek, Latin and Demotic Acrostich Inscriptions’, CQ 67 (2017), 228-46; for the Latin literature, see Julia Dyson Hejduk, ‘Was Virgil Reading the Bible? Original Sin and an Astonishing Acrostic in the Orpheus and Eurydice’, Vergilius 64 (2018), 71-102; Matthew Robinson, ‘Looking Edgeways: Pursuing Acrostics in Ovid and Vergil’, CQ 69 (2019), 1-19.

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seem to indicate when a reader would want to pause while reading the text to an audience since they occurred relatively regularly according to the content and syntactic aspects of the text. However, it is revealing not all texts in these codices were marked with these strokes, but obviously only those texts or passages prepared for a reading.35 While the lack of strokes in manuscripts does not preclude the possibility that these texts functioned as scripts for performative readings, those who postulate the thesis that concrete manuscripts functioned as scripts for performative readings need to carry the burden of proof. 3) The idea of a ‘pure’ scriptio continua-text without any complementary signs such as the apostrophe, the trema or the rough breathing in the autographs of the New Testament or in the initial text, as often assumed in scholarship,36 seems to be doubtful.

35 See P45 (P.Beatty 1): in Mark and Acts, but not Luke and John; P46 (P.Beatty 2/P.Mich. inv. 6238): in passages of Romans, the last chapters of 1Corinthians, and in Hebrews. See also P37, P13 (P.Oxy. 4 657), P17 (P.Oxy. 8 1078) and the LXX papyrus 967 (Rahlfs; P.Beatty 7 9-10; P.Köln Theol. 3ff). See Henry A. Sanders, A Third-Century Papyrus Codex of the Epistles of Paul (Ann Arbor, MI, 1935). 36 See, e.g., Kristina Dronsch, Bedeutung als Grundbegriff neutestamentlicher Wissenschaft: Texttheoretische und semiotische Entwürfe zur Kritik der Semantik dargelegt anhand einer Analyse zu akuein in Mk 4, Neutestamentliche Entwürfe zur Theologie 15 (Tübingen, 2010), 244-3. Yet the manuscripts do not allow for the exact reconstruction of those markings in the autographs as well as in the initial text.

Armenische Übersetzung des pseudoathanasianischen Dialogus Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem (CPG 2257)1 Anahit AVAGYAN, Yerevan, Armenia

ABSTRACT This florilegium, belonging to the genre of erotapokriseis, led to numerous discussions, and many issues (authorship, dating, extent, etc.) still require definitive answers. The Greek original of Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem (CPG 2257), attributed to Athanasius of Alexandria, consists of 137 questions and answers and in the course of time has been translated into Armenian, Arabic, Ethiopian, Georgian, Latin and Church Slavonic. Among Armenian translations of Athanasius of Alexandria, the writing has the richest manuscript transmission (over 90 manuscripts dated from the 13th to 19th centuries): Within this transmission, some text variants can be observed. In its Armenian translation the writing represents a dialogue between Athanasius of Alexandria and Cyril of Jerusalem. The collations with the Greek original show that the questions posed by the Armenian text do not always correspond to the 137 questions of the original language. The difference is not only in the order of the questions, but also in the omission of some questions and the addition of others in Armenian, which leads to different emphases in both texts. The translation of the quaestiones of the Armenian text, which do not have Greek equivalents, is provided in the article. The article deals mainly with the Armenian manuscript transmission and textual tradition of Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem. It is of particular interest to compare Armenian with other existing translations in order to determine possible connections.

Einführung Dieses in der Gattung von Erotaprokriseis zusammengestellte Florilegium führte zu zahlreichen Diskussionen, und bei vielen Themen (Verfasserschaft, Datierung, Umfang usw.) stehen endgültige Antworten noch aus. Hier besteht aber keine weitere Notwendigkeit, auf das eine oder andere Problem näher einzugehen, denn die Studien die sich auf diese Schrift beziehen, führen mehrfach die ihnen vorausgegangenen Untersuchungen auf. Das griechische Original der Schrift Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem (CPG 2257), die Athanasius von Alexandrien zugeschrieben wird, besteht aus 1 Die Teilnahme an der 18. Internationalen Konferenz für Patristische Studien wurde durch die Grant-Förderung von National Association for Armenian Studies and Research (NAASR) möglich.

Studia Patristica CXXV, 249-259. © Peeters Publishers, 2021.

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137 Fragen und Antworten und wurde im Laufe der Zeit ins Armenische, Arabische, Äthiopische, Georgische, Lateinische und Kirchenslawische übersetzt. Die Übersetzungen werden unterschiedlich intensiv und ausführlich studiert. Auffällig ist aber, dass fast gleichzeitig das Original und die Übersetzungen unter die Lupe genommen wurden und werden. Ich kann bei den anderen Sprachen schlecht einschätzen, ob es ein Zufall war, oder ob die kritische Edition des Originals dazu Impulse gab. Ich meinerseits kann nur angeben, dass mein Vorhaben der näheren Untersuchung der armenischen Übersetzung von Quaestiones mit der äußerst spannenden und bunten handschriftlichen Überlieferung des Textes zusammenhängt. Ich bin aber auch glücklich, dass ich meine Arbeit im gleichzeitigen Vergleich mit den Ergebnissen von Kollegen durchführen darf. Vorwegzunehmen ist, dass die Schrift in der armenischen Übersetzung ein Gespräch zwischen Athanasius von Alexandrien und Kyrill von Jerusalem darstellt. Die Kollationen mit dem griechischen Original zeigen, dass die Fragestellungen des Armenischen nicht immer den 137 Fragen der Originalsprache entsprechen. Der Unterschied besteht nicht nur in der Reihenfolge der Fragen, sondern auch in der Auslassung einiger Fragen und Hinzufügung von anderen Fragen im Armenischen, was zu unterschiedlichen Schwerpunktsetzungen in beiden Texten führt. Dies alles ist freilich bei der Untersuchung eines erotapokritischen Textes zu erwarten: Im Folgenden wird es anhand von Beispielen verdeutlicht. Handschriftliche Überlieferung Im Artikel „The Manuscript Tradition of the Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem“ gibt Ilse De Vos an, dass die griechische Handschriftenüberlieferung aus 233 Handschriften besteht,2 und im Artikel über die slavische Überlieferung des Textes der Autorinnen Ilse De Vos und Olga Grinchenko heißt es, dass „The Slavonic tradition counts 123 witnesses dating from the eleventh to the nineteenth century“.3 Unter den armenischen Übersetzungen des Athanasius von Alexandrien genießt die Schrift die reichste Handschriftenüberlieferung (über 90 Manuskripte datiert vom 13.-19. Jh.). Die älteste Handschrift im armenischen Befund ist Ms. Nr. 425 der Bibliothek der Venediger Mechitharistenkongregation datiert vor 1255; sie liegt der Venediger Athanasius-Edition zugrunde.4 Die letztere basiert auf sechs Handschriften.5 2

Ilse De Vos, ‘The Manuscript Tradition of the Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem’, in Reinhart Ceulemans and Pieter De Leemans (Hrsg.), On Good Authority: Tradition, Compilation and the Construction of Authority in Literature from Antiquity to the Renaissance (Turnhout, 2015), 43-66, 43. 3 Ilse De Vos and Olga Grinchenko, ‘The Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem: Exploring the Slavonic Material’, Byzantion 84 (2014), 105-43, 107. 4 S. Athanasii patriarchae Alexandriae homiliae, epistulae et controuersiae [Ս. Աթանասի Աղեքսանդրիոյ հայրապետի Ճառք, թուղթք եւ ընդդիմասացութիւնք], ed. Esayi Tayecʽi (Venedig, 1899), 347-477. 5 Ibid. xv-xvii.

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Im Vergleich zur früheren Liste,6 die 94 Handschriften aufführte, wurden die folgenden Ergänzungen vorgenommen: Es werden hinzugefügt: Cambridge University Library (CBU) Ms. Nr. Or. 1379 (8) datiert auf 1742, kopiert in Konstantinopel, fol. 2a-63b7; BZ (Bzommar/ Zmmar) 167 (alte Nr. 162) datiert auf 1642 kopiert in Mažak oder Caesarea, fol. 8a-35a und 188b-196b (kopiert zweimal an verschiedenen Stellen);8 Der Standort wurde gewechselt: Brit. Mus. Ms. Nr. Or. 2623 wird jetzt in der British Library (LOB) aufbewahrt, die Handschrift stellt eine Sammlung dar und wird aufgrund der kodikologischen Eigenheiten auf die Zeit vor 1400 datiert, fol. 1-89.9 Mit einem Blick auf das Diagramm können wir feststellen, dass die Mehrheit der Kopien im 17. Jh. durchgeführt wurde, was auch der Fall bei der slavischen Überlieferung ist. Die auf der rechten Seite des Diagramms aufgeführte Kolumne zeigt die Übereinstimmungen der Handschriften unseres Instituts mit der einer oder anderen Handschrift der Venediger Edition. Der Herausgeber Esayi Tayecʽi bezeichnete sie 1., 2., 3. usw. Exemplare des Textes, damit sind noch keine Redaktionen gemeint. 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

? 6. Ex. 5. Ex. 4. Ex. 3. Ex. 2. Ex. ?

13. Jh. 14. Jh. 15. Jh. 16. Jh. 17. Jh. 18. Jh. 19. Jh.

1. Ex.

6 Anahit Avagyan, Die armenische Athanasius-Überlieferung: Das auf Armenisch unter dem Namen des Athanasius von Alexandrien tradierte Schrifttum, Patristische Texte und Studien 69 (Berlin, Boston, 2014), 70-3. 7 Siehe Peter Cowe, Catalogue of the Armenian Manuscripts in the Cambridge University Library, CSCO 546, Subs. 86 (Louvain, 1994), 185-8; Vrej N. Nersessian, A Catalogue of the Armenian Manuscripts in the British Library acquired since the year 1913 and of collections in other libraries in the United Kingdom, Vol. II (London, 2012), 777-80. V. Nersessian merkt an: „In Greek MSS this work is listed among the pseudo-Athanasian works and has the title ‘Questions asked of the Prince of Antioch’, a critical text of which, based on the 10th-century MS, was prepared by W. Dindorf in Athanasii Alexandrini Praecepta ad Antiochum (Leipzig 1857)“ (ibid. 778). Der hierauf folgende Verweis auf die PG 28, 597-708 ist richtig, aber die Edition von W. Dindorf bezieht sich nicht auf den armenischen Text von Quaestiones, sondern auf PG 28, 554-89, dessen armenische Übersetzung nicht bekannt ist. 8 Vgl. Mesrop Kʽēšišean, Katalog der armenischen Handschriften in der Bibliothek des Klosters Bzommar [Ցուցակ հայերէն ձեռագրաց Զմմառի վանքի Մատենադարանին] (Wien, 1964), 377-8 und 384. 9 Siehe Frederick C. Conybeare, A Catalogue of the Armenian Manuscripts in the British Museum (London, 1913), 189-90.

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Titel Die erste Schwierigkeit der armenischen Übersetzung bereitet der Titel. Im Armenischen sind die Quaestiones nirgends an den antiochenischen Herrscher gerichtet. Die Mehrheit, ungefähr zwei drittel der Handschriften, stellt ein Dialog zwischen Athanasius von Alexandrien und Kyrill von Jerusalem dar, indem der letztere der Antwortende ist. Einige Handschriften verzichten auf die Teilnahme Kyrills im Gespräch, zwei Handschriften geben als Antwortenden einen Engel an, in einem erhält Athanasius die Antworten vom Heiligen Geist. Die längste und die häufigste Version lautet: Երանելոյն Աթանասի արքեպիսկոպոսի Աղեքսանդրացոյ հարցմունք վայելուչք եւ պատասխանիք (հոգեշահք) Կիւրղի Երուսաղէմի հայրապետին, յաղագս մակացութեան եւ հանճարոյ Des seligen Athanasius, Erzbischofs von Alexandrien, anständige/elegante Fragen und (heilbringende/lehrreiche) Antworten Kyrills, Patriarchen von Jerusalem, über/ von (Er)kenntnis und Einsicht. Text Die Venediger Athanasius-Edition (Verleger ist Pater Esayi Tayecʽi) der Quaestiones enthält 144 Fragen und Antworten (43-4. und 128. sind in doppelter Ausführung). Diese stellt die Aufzählung von Tayecʽi dar. Tayecʽi versuchte einen vollständigeren, mit dem Griechischen vergleichbaren Text zu rekonstruieren, soweit es aus dem Textumfang des Armenischen her möglich war. Dabei fügte er auch einzelne Wörter und Ausdrücke in seinen Haupttext hinzu. Die Handschriften liefern weitere Fragestellungen. Innerhalb dieser Textüberlieferung hat man einzelne Fragen oder eine ganze Fragengruppe, die bei Tayecʽi und auch im Griechischen nicht vorhanden sind (vgl. M 8309, fol. 218b-221b, M 7525, fol. 80b, M 8756, fol. 12a-14b usw.10), die aber typisch für die Handschriften sind, die dem 2. und 3. Exemplar (Cod. Ven. 1244 und Cod. Ven. 1260) der Ausgabe von Tayecʽi näher stehen. Die Fragen heißen: Warum hat der Mond/der Monat 30 Tage und vier Wochen? Warum wurden 7 Tage für eine Woche bestimmt? Wo wurden 4 Kapitel (Bücher) des Evangeliums oder aus wessen Kopie/Exemplar geschrieben? Aus welchem Grund wurden 4 Kapitel/Bücher für das Evangelium bestimmt, und nicht fünf oder zwölf? Innerhalb dieser Überlieferung sind einige Textvarianten zu beobachten. Bei dem Forschungsstand, zu dem ich bis jetzt gekommen bin, ist es noch zu früh, über die einzelnen Redaktionen oder ihre Besonderheiten zu sprechen. Selbstverständlich gibt es einige typische Merkmale, nach denen die Handschriften jeweils zumindest zum einen oder anderen Exemplar der Venediger 10 M steht für die Manuskripte von Matenadaran – des Forschungsinstituts der alten Handschriften von Yerevan, Armenien.

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Edition zugeordnet werden können, aber diese sind schwerlich als Redaktionen zu bezeichnen. Man kann aber bereits vollständige und gekürzte Texte beobachten, die ihrerseits ihre Varianten haben.

Übereinstimmung mit dem Griechischen Der griechische textus receptus (würde man den bereits gedruckten Bestand11 so bezeichnen) von Quaestiones besteht aus 137 Fragen und Antworten. In der armenischen Handschriftentradition fällt die Anzahl der quaestiones sehr unterschiedlich aus. Ich bin überzeugt, dass es keine Eigenheit der armenischen Texttradition ist. Durch die Studien vieler Kollegen wurde deutlich, dass dies auch im Griechichen und im Slavischen12 der Fall ist. Barbara Roggema diskutiert zwei Überlieferungen der arabischen Übersetzung.13 Im Interesse der Edition der armenischen Übersetzung ist zu diskutieren, welche Fragen und Antworten in den armenischen textus receptus aufgenommen werden sollen und welche in den apparatus criticus gehören. Der Vergleich der Fragestellungen des griechischen Textes mit der armenischen Übersetzung ergab Folgendes: a. Die Fragen und Antworten α΄, β΄, γ΄, δ΄, ε΄, ϛ΄, ζ΄, η΄, θ΄, ι΄, ια΄, ιβ΄, ιγ΄, ιδ΄, ιε΄, λζ΄, λη΄, λθ΄, μ΄, μα΄, μβ΄, μγ΄, μδ΄, με΄, μζ΄, μη΄, μθ΄, ν΄, να΄, νβ΄, νγ΄, νδ΄, νϛ΄, νζ΄, νη΄, νθ΄, ξ΄, ξα΄, ξβ΄, ξγ΄, ξδ΄, ξε΄, ξϛ΄, οβ΄, ογ΄, π΄, πβ΄, ϟθ΄, ρ΄, ργ΄, ρδ΄, ρϛ΄, ρη΄, ρθ΄, ρι΄, ρια΄, ριβ΄, ριζ΄, ριη΄, ριθ΄, ρκ΄, ρκα΄, ρκβ΄, ρκγ΄, ρκδ΄, ρκε΄, ρκϛ΄, ρκθ΄, ρλ΄, ρλα΄, ρλβ΄, ρλϛ΄, ρλζ΄ des Griechischen, insgesamt 73, haben keine armenischen Äquivalente. Bei einer tabellarischen Darstellung14 fällt auf, dass der armenische Text nach den Auslassungen fast immer mit der 3. oder 6./7. quaestio der Dekade weitergeht. Eine plausible Begründung hierfür vorzubringen wäre gewagt, solange die ganze Fülle der armenischen Quaestiones nicht feststeht. b. Beginnend mit der 16. Frage des Griechischen haben Griechisch und Armenisch insgesamt 63/64 Fragen und Antworten gemeinsam:15 ιϛ΄=Ա, ιζ΄=Բ, ιη΄=Գ, ιθ΄=Դ, κ΄=Ե, κα΄=Զ, κβ΄=Է, κγ΄ und κδ΄=Ը, κε΄=Թ, κϛ΄=Ժ, κζ΄=ԺԱ, 11

PG 28, 597-700. I. De Vos and O. Grinchenko, ‘The Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem’ (2014), 105-43. 13 Barbara Roggema, ‘The Integral Arabic Translation of Pseudo-Athanasius of Alexandria’s Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem’, in Barbara Roggema and Alexander Treiger (Hrsg.), Patristic Literature in Arabic Translations (Leiden, Boston, 2020), 15-52. 14 Siehe A. Avagyan, Die armenische Athanasius-Überlieferung (2014), 74. 15 Siehe auch Caroline Macé, ‘Les Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem d’un Pseudo-Athanase (CPG 2257). Un état de la question’, in Marie-Pierre Bussières (Hrsg.), La littérature des questions et réponses dans l’Antiquité profane et chrétienne: de l’enseignement à l’exégèse, Instrumenta Patristica et Mediaevalia 64 (Turnhout, 2013), 121-50, 121, Fußn. 3. 12

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κη΄=ԺԲ, κθ΄=ԺԳ, λ΄=ԺԴ, λα΄=ԺԵ, λβ΄=ԺԶ, λγ΄=ԺԷ, λδ΄=ԺԸ, λε΄=ԺԹ, λϛ΄=Ի, μϛ΄=ԾԵ(!), νε΄=ԾԴ(?), ξζ΄=ԻԱ, ξη΄=ԻԲ, ξθ΄=ԻԳ, ο΄=ԻԴ, οα΄=ԻԵ, οδ΄=ԿԷ(!), οε΄=ԿԸ(!), οϛ΄=ԿԹ(!), οζ΄=Հ(!), οη΄=ՀԱ(!), οθ΄=ՀԲ(!), πα΄=ԻԶ, πγ΄=ԻԷ, πδ΄=ԻԸ, πε΄=ԻԹ, πϛ΄=Լ, πζ΄=ԼԱ, πη΄=ԼԲ, πθ΄=ԼԳ, ϟ΄=ԼԴ, ϟα΄=ԼԵ, ϟβ΄=ԼԶ, ϟγ΄=ԼԷ, ϟδ΄=ԼԸ, ϟε΄=ԼԹ, ϟϛ΄=Խ, ϟζ΄=ԽԱ, ϟη΄=ԽԲ, ρα΄=ԽԳ.1, ρβ΄=ԽԴ.1, ρε΄=ԽԳ.2, ρζ΄=ԽԴ.2, ριγ΄=ԽԵ, ριδ΄=ԽԶ, ριε΄=ԽԷ, ριϛ΄=ԽԸ, ρκζ΄=ԽԹ, ρκη΄=Ծ, ρλγ΄=ԾԱ, ρλδ΄=ԾԲ, ρλε΄=ԾԳ. Tayecʽi merkte an, dass der armenische Text vom griechischen ab der 55. (ԾԵ) Fragestellung abweicht.16 Da er ab dieser Fragestellung keine weiteren griechischen Äquivalente angibt, ist anzunehmen, dass Tayecʽi mit der Formulierung զարտուղի ի յոյն բնագրէն (anderweitig vom griechischen Original) „nicht vorhanden im griechischen Original“ meint. Allerdings, die erwähnte quaestio 55. (ԾԵ) stimmt mit der 46. (μϛ΄) des griechischen Textes überein, und dies möchte ich hier veranschaulichen: Ἐρώτησις μς΄. Τίς πρὸ πάντων ὠνόμασε Θεὸν τὸν Θεὸν ἐπὶ γῆς; Ἀπόκρισις. Πρόδηλον, ὅτι ὁ διάβολος, ὅτε πρὸς τὴν Εὔαν ἔλεγε· « Τί ὅτι εἶπεν ὑμῖν ὁ Θεὸς, ἀπὸ παντὸς ξύλου τοῦ ἐν τῷ παραδείσῳ φαγεῖν » (Gen. 3:1) καὶ μὴ θαυμάσῃς τοῦτο· ἄγγελος γὰρ ὤν ποτε ὁ διάβολος, εἴχε γνῶσιν ὑπὲρ τὸν ἄνθρωπον τότε (PG 28, 628B). Vgl. ԾԵ. հարց. Ո՞ նախ ասաց զանունն Աստուծոյ: [55. Frage. Wer sagte zuerst/zunächst den Namen Gottes?]. Պատսխ. Օձն բերանով սատանայի ասաց ընդ Եւայ: [Antwort. Die Schlange durch den Mund von Satan sagte/sprach zu Eva].

Man würde erwarten, dass es der Satan ist, der durch den Mund der Schlange Eva ansprach und nicht umgekehrt. Das Bibelzitat und die folgende Behauptung fehlen ganz im Armenischen. Eine weitere Korrektur bei den von Tayecʽi aufgeführten Übereinstimmungen ist bei der quaestio 54. (ԾԴ) anzunehmen. Er gibt als Äquivalent die griechische quaestio 136. (ρλϛ΄) an. Es liegt eine ausführliche Untersuchung über die 136. quaestio des griechischen Textes vor,17 sodass wir hier nicht mehr nur auf die Patrologia Graeca (PG 28, 681-4) angewiesen sind. Die 54. (ԾԴ) armenische Fragestellung kann nicht als Übersetzung der griechischen 136. angenommen werden. In der 55. (νε΄) quaestio et responsio des griechischen Textes findet die armenische 54. (ԾԴ) eine Widerspiegelung:18 Ἐρώτησις νε΄. Τίνος χάριν τῇ εἰκάδι πέμπτῃ τοῦ λεγομένου παρὰ Ῥωμαίον Μαρτίου μηνὸς ὁ Χριστὸς ἐν τῇ μήτρᾳ τῆς Παρθένου ἐπὶ γῆς ἐσκήνωσεν; Ἀπόκρισις. Ἐπειδὴ ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς ὁ Θεὸς τὸν Ἀδὰμ ἔπλασεν. Ὅθεν καὶ τῷ μηνὶ ἐκείνῳ πάντα τὰ δένδρα, καὶ αἱ βοτάναι, καὶ τὰ ζῶα εἰς καρποφορίαν καὶ τεκνογονίαν κινοῦνται, ὡς τῷ καιρῷ ἐκείνῳ ὑπὸ Θεοῦ γενόμενα (PG 28, 632B). Vgl. ԾԴ. հարց․ 16 S. Athanasii patriarchae Alexandriae homiliae, epistulae et controuersiae, hrsg. von E. Tayecʽi (1899), 381, Fußn. *. 17 Caroline Macé and Ilse De Vos, ‘Pseudo-Athanasius, Quaestio ad Antiochum 136 and the Theosophia’, SP 66 (2013), 319-32, bes. 322-3. 18 Siehe C. Macé, ‘Les Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem d’un Pseudo-Athanase (CPG 2257)’ (2013), 121, Fußn. 3.

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Յո՞ր ամիս եստեղծ Աստուած զԱդամ, և կամ զիա՞րդ։ [54. Frage. In welchem Monat schuf Gott Adam und warum?]. Պատսխ. Ի քսան և հինգ ի մարտի ամսեան, յաւուր վեցերորդի, որ է ուրբաթ [Am 25. im Monat März, am 6. Tag, der Freitag ist].

Die dritte Aktualisierung der Kollationen von Tayecʽi ist die Feststellung der griechischen Äquivalente für die armenischen quaestiones ԿԷ (67.) bis ՀԲ (72.), die sich inhaltlich mit Sünden befassen. c. Die Fragen und Antworten von ԾԶ (56.) bis ԿԶ (66.) und von ՀԳ (73.) bis ՃԽԱ (141.) des Armenischen, insgesamt 81, fehlen im Griechischen bzw. bilden das armenische Sondergut. Hier stellt sich die Frage, ob man sie bereits armenisches Sondergut nennen darf oder ob sie in einer anderen Übersetzung auch vorhanden sind. Die wichtigsten Herausforderungen der Untersuchung des Sonderguts sind die Fragen: Woher, wann und aus welchem Grund wurden diese Fragestellungen entnommen und in diesen konkreten Text eingefügt, wurden sie überhaupt ins Armenische übersetzt oder ursprünglich auf Armenisch verfasst? Im Folgenden werden die Übersetzungen der armenischen Fragestellungen19 dargestellt, die kein griechisches Äquivalent haben: 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

Welche sind die sieben Sünden Kains? Wann starb der vierte Mensch auf der Erde? Wer wurde von keiner Mutter geboren und starb? Von wem spricht der Prophet „die Himmel erzählen die Ehre Gottes“ (Ps. 19:2)? In wieviele Teile wurde das Meer gespalten, als die Söhne nach dem Auszug aus Ägypten dieses passierten? 61. Was ist Zion bzw. was wurde Zion genannt? 62. Woher wurde die Erde für die Schöpfung von Adam entnommen? Antwort: Aus dem Land von Midian (Մադիամ), auf dem Adam wohnte, wo er aus dem Paradies herauskam. Midian (Մադիամ) ist in der Mitte von Himmel und Erde, wie der Psalmensänger sagte: „Gott unser König vor der Ewigkeit, der vollbrachte die Errettung auf der Erde“ (vgl. Ps. 74:12 [LXX]); und dort wurde Christus gekreuzigt.

Hier wird ausnahmsweise auch die Übersetzung der Antwort aufgeführt, um auf die Form Մադիամ aufmerksam zu machen: Diese Wiedergabe der Landesangabe Midian im Armenischen spiegelt das Griechische Μαδιάμ wider und könnte auf eine Übersetzung dieser quaestiones aus dem Griechischen hinweisen. Diese Form im Armenischen ist biblisch nur in der Apg. 7:29 belegt, wo sie aus dem Griechischen übersetzt wurde. Ein heikles Problem hier ist die Gleichsetzung von Midian und Golgatha (auch wenn Letzteres nicht namentlich genannt wird), die eine weitere Untersuchung braucht. Eventuell müssen hier außerbiblische Quellen in Betracht gezogen werden. 19 Ich verzichte absichtlich auf die Übersetzung der Antworten, um den Artikelrahmen nicht zu sprengen.

256 63. 64. 65. 66. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96.

A. AVAGYAN

Wieviele Werke vollbrachte Gott mit seinen Händen? Wer starb nicht und entfloh dem Tod? Welches ist das erste Handwerk auf der Erde? Wer sah nicht den Himmel und betrat nicht die Erde, sah nicht mit Augen und betete Gott an? Warum ist die Natur des Menschen einmal gutwillig, ein andermal unwillig zu Opfergaben? Wenn jemand Opfergaben darbringen möchte, aber keine Mittel hat, was geschieht ihm? Wenn jemand nicht viel hat, um die Bedürftigkeit der Armen zu stillen, und wenn jemand vermögend ist, aber hilft nicht, was geschieht ihm? Wenn jemand auch nicht im Stande ist, sogar Wasser zum Trinken zu geben, was geschieht ihm? Wenn jemand wünscht, ersehnt etwas zu tun, aber hat nicht vor, es zu erfüllen, was geschieht ihm? Oder wenn jemand wünscht und kann es tun, macht es aber nicht? Wenn jemand die Welt wegen der Begierde verlässt, aber diejenigen, die in den Städten bleiben und dort die Begierde besiegen, sind diese beiden gleich oder hat derjenige einen Vorteil, der sich von der Welt zurückzog? Welche Buße reinigt und heilt sofort viele Sünden? Welches Werk der Bösen verunreinigt und verdirbt alle Werke der Guten? Sind alle Diebstähle gleich, und diejenigen, die stehlen, werden sie gleich verurteilt? Wer Böses mit Bösem vergilt, was geschieht? Derjenige, der weder Böses noch Gutes tat, und ihm wird Unrecht getan, was geschieht ihm? Gibt es leichtere und schwerere Folterqualen? Diejenigen, die in dieser Welt gequält werden, verarmen, verhungern und leiden, werden sie jenseits von Folterqualen befreit? Wenn jemandes Habe geraubt, verbrannt, schiffbrüchig oder geplündert wird, wird dem Besitzer entgolten oder nicht? Steigt der Heilige Geist beim Gottesdienst des sündigen Priesters herab, oder wird sein Gottesdienst für unrein gehalten? Muss man den sündhaften Priester als heilig annehmen? Muss man den sündigen Priester als heiligen annehmen und bei ihm Beichte ablegen? Findet der sündige und wissende oder der heilige und unwissende Priester bei Gott Akzeptanz? Wenn ein Priester mit dem Lehren nicht aufgehört hat, die Gemeinde aber nicht zugehört hat und nicht bekehrt ist, was geschieht ihm: soll er weiter lehren oder nicht? Wenn ein Sünder sich durch Bitten und Flehen nicht bekehrt, soll der Priester den Sünder aus der Kirche ausweisen und mit dem Kirchenbann belegen? Müssen alle Sünder gleich den anderen in und bei der Kirche Akzeptanz finden? In der Heiligen Schrift sprach der Herr zu Mose und Jeremias: „Bittet nicht für dieses Volk, denn ich will euch nicht hören“ (Jer. 7:16), denn sie sind böse und untauglich. Müssen die Sünder zur Kirche, vielmehr, mit Gewalt in die Kirche hineingezogen werden? In den Apostolischen Kanones steht, dass der Sünder außerhalb der Kirche bleiben soll, gemäß seinen Sünden.

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97. Wenn jemand eine Sünde auf dem Gewissen hat, und geht nicht zur Kommunion, soll er dazu gezwungen werden? 98. Wenn jemand wagt, sich furchtlos dem Tisch (Altar) zu nähern, um die Eucharistie zu empfangen, muss man ihm den würdigen Leib und Blut ohne Beichte reichen? 99. Ist es besser, dass der Priester in die Wüste zieht oder in der Kirche bleibt? 100. Wenn jemand viele oder wenige Sünden begeht, eine Beichte ablegt und nicht mehr sündigt, ist es möglich ohne Buße Vergebung zu erhalten? 101. Gibt es eine Sünde, die nicht verbüßt werden kann? 102. Gibt es eine höhere Tugend, als reichliche Opfergaben darzubringen? 103. Gibt es eine höhere Tugend als die Geduld? 104. Wenn einer dem anderen vorenthält und geizt, aber von diesem reichlich den Armen gibt, wird er bei Gott Akzeptanz finden oder nicht? 105. Sind alle Morde und alle Hurereien gleich, oder unterscheiden sich die der Reichen von denen der Armen? 106. Wenn viele Menschen einen Menschen töten, wird die Schuld auf diese vielen verteilt, und büßt jeder einen kleinen Teil? 107. Welches Fasten ist akzeptabel bei Gott? Denn man sieht einige, die das vierzigtägige Fasten ganz, die anderen aber zu Hälfte halten, und die anderen nur Samstags fasten; desgleichen auch das ganze Jahr über kein Fleisch zu sich nehmen oder etwas von den feinen Speisen. 108. Schadet Wein mehr als Fleisch und andere feine Speisen? 109. Ist auch übles Nachreden böse, wenn Paulus den Lästerer und den Trunkenbold vom Reich Gottes abhält (1Kor. 6:10)? 110. Viele Unrechtstaten sind von Menschen verborgen: muss man sie alle enthüllen, damit die Menschen aufpassen und gerettet werden? Wenn jemand in Not ist und verkauft viel von seiner Habe, und derjenige, der sie kauft, weiß, dass der Preis dieser Habe höher ist, als der Besitzer wegen der Hungersnot oder wegen der Bedrängnisse der körperlichen Leiden verlangt, und jener erwirbt sie bereitwillig und gewissenlos, was geschieht ihm? 111. Wenn jemand (fremde) Güter findet, ein Teil behält und eine Hälfte den Armen spendet, nützt es ihm oder nicht? 112. Was gilt als Opfergabe? Wenn jemand nichts hat, wenn jemand wenig oder mehr Habe besitzt, wenn jemand wohlhabend oder allzu sehr vermögend ist. 113. Wenn jemand stirbt und vermacht, dass sein ganzes Hab und Gut den Armen zugeteilt wird, nützt es dem Geldgierigen oder nicht? 114. Warum nützt es jenem nicht, wenn seine Kinder und Verwandten für ihn reichliche Opfergaben darlegen und Gedenkgottesdienste bestellen? 115. Wenn jemand barmherzig ist, und Mitleid redet ihm zu, und er spendet den Armen, ist es akzeptabel? Oder wenn jemand nicht barmherzig ist, und seine Natur verbietet ihm zu spenden, er aber besiegt die Natur und spendet den Armen Opfergaben wegen der Höllenangst. 116. Wenn jemand dem Armen gibt, und dieser die Gabe annimmt und alle seine Nöte erfüllt außer den Speisen, der Spendende aber benötigte seine Opfergaben nicht, was gelten solche für ihn? 117. Viele verließen ihre Habe und ihre Herden, einige mehr, einige weniger, und widmeten sich dem Mönchsleben; und viele raubten deren Hab und Gut. Wäre es nicht besser, es unter den Armen zu verteilen, als dass man es plündern lässt?

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118. Diejenigen, die ihre Habe nicht zurückließen, sondern die Hälfte den Armen austeilten und die Hälfte den berühmten Klöstern spendeten, und dort führten sie ihr Mönchsleben, welche Gabe ist für sie vorgesehen? 119. Ist es besser, dem Armen, dem Priester oder der Kirche zu spenden? 120. Ist es besser, ein Mönch zu sein oder verheiratet zu sein und gute Werke zu vollbringen? 121. Warum sagt Christus, wenn „einer seinen Vater und seine Mutter, die Frau und den Äcker nicht verlässt, ist er meiner nicht wert“ (vgl. Mt. 19:29 und Mt. 10:37)? 122. Warum sagt Christus, dass „es leichter ist, dass ein Kamel (evtl. Seil) durch ein Nadelöhr geht, als dass ein Reicher in das Reich Gottes kommt“ (Mk. 10:25)? 123. Wenn ein Reicher so schwer in das Himmelreich kommen wird, warum wird behauptet, dass Wohlstand von Gott ist? 124. Warum sind die Fremden wohlhabend, die Christen aber unter Verfolgung und arm? 125. Viele ließen ihre Wohnorte wegen der dort ansässigen Übeltäter und gingen dorthin, wo die Menschen wohltätig waren: trägt es zu ihrer Wachsamkeit bei? 126. Ist Zorn eine höhere Sünde als Böses mit Bösem dem Nächsten gegenüber zu vergelten? 127. Wenn jemand einen Groll gegen seinen Nächsten hegt, soll der Beleidigende oder der Beleidigte um die Vergebung bitten? 128.1. Wenn jemand einem Priester gegenüber sündigt, soll der Sünder den Priester um die Vergebung bitten, oder der Priester den Sünder? 128.2. Die Laien dürfen keinen Groll gegen einander hegen, geschweige denn die Priester, und so den Gottesdienst feiern. 129. Wieviel Mal darf man dem Nächsten vergeben? 130. Wenn jemand seinen Nächsten zu Recht oder zu Unrecht verrät, wird er auf gleicher Weise beurteilt oder gemäß seiner Sünde? 131. Wenn jemand den Tod findet, ist es besser eines ruhigen oder furchtbaren Todes zu sterben? 132. Ist es besser, eine Kirche zu errichten oder dem Armen zu geben? 133. Manche werden für ihre Sünden gequält und würden ihr ganzes Hab und Gut geben und womöglich sogar ihre Kinder verkaufen, um von den Qualen befreit zu werden: Was wird ihre spätere Strafe sein? 134. Wenn jemand mit seiner Habe nicht geizt und ein Mahl für viele Verwandten veranstaltet, aber opfert wenig, und verarmt plötzlich, was geschieht? 135. Ist es besser den Armen mehr zu geben oder eigene Kinder besser zu versorgen? 136. Ein Wohltäter verdient Lob: Ist ein Menschenfreund auch ein Wohltäter oder eine andere Art von fromm? 137. Wenn jemand einen Priester oder einen Mönch verflucht, bildet es keine Gefahr? 138. Wenn die Schrift befiehlt, den Sündern zu vergeben, üben manche Kritik daran, dass Christus Judas nicht vergab. 139. Wenn man jemandes Missetat erfährt, soll man ihn tadeln? 140. Wenn übles Nachreden böse ist, ist es auch böse, es anzuhören? 141. Wenn jemand den Armen schlägt oder von ihm etwas wegnimmt, was geschieht?

Der kurze Blick – durch die Übersetzung nur der quaestiones – auf den Inhalt des armenischen Sonderguts offenbart, dass es mit wenigen Ausnahmen (biblische Fragen: 56. (ԾԶ)-66. (ԿԶ) und antropologische Frage 73. (ՀԳ)) das

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Thema von Buße/Opfergaben und Sünden behandeln. Auch wenn alle diese Fragen einen gemeinsamen Inhalt haben, bei den einzelnen Fragestellungen kann man interessante Hinweise auf den möglichen Sitz im Leben des hinzugefügten Stoffes gewinnen. Schlussfolgerungen Eine Feststellung, die eigentlich kein Ergebnis des Dargelegten ist, sondern generell die armenischen Übersetzungen des Athanasius von Alexandrien betrifft, möchte ich hier anfügen: Innerhalb der armenischen Übersetzungen des Athanasius dominieren die pseudonymen und umstrittenen Schriften dieses Kirchenvaters und innerhalb der letzteren sind die längsten Dialoge, und hieraus können wir schließen, dass Athanasius „ein beliebter Dialogführer“ in der armenischen Literatur war. Auch wenn ich mich der Meinung von Ilse De Vos und Olga Grinchenko anschließe, „that it is impossible to study, let alone edit any of these translations without thoroughly studying the Greek tradition“20, so wurde hier ein Versuch unternommen, eine kleine Untersuchung des armenischen Bestandes von Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem mit Hilfe des griechischen Textes – abgedruckt in Patrologia Graeca – durchzuführen, die eine spätere kritische Ausgabe der armenischen Übersetzung von Quaestiones vorbereitet. Dieses Florilegium wurde nie im armenischen Milieu als an den Antiochenischen Herrscher gerichtete Fragestellungen rezipiert. Es wurde als Dialog zwischen Athanasius von Alexandrien und Kyrill von Jerusalem betitelt. Der erste Verleger der Schrift21 macht es zum historischen Ereignis, das heißt, er lässt Athanasius und Kyrill von Jerusalem bei Silvanus von Tarsus disputieren, bei dem die beiden vor den Verfolgungen von Kaiser Constantius Zuflucht gefunden haben. Das armenische Sondergut ist breiter als die Übereinstimmungen mit dem griechischen Text. Es ist von besonderem Interesse, Armenisch mit anderen bestehenden Übersetzungen zu vergleichen, um eventuelle Zusammenhänge und damit auch das eigentliche armenische Sondergut festzustellen. Es gibt natürlich Probleme, die die armenische Übersetzung mit dem griechischen Original und den anderen Übersetzungen teilt, es gibt auch welche, die fürs Armenische sekundär sind. Die Untersuchung der armenischen Übersetzung wäre noch wertvoller, wenn sie bei der Klärung einiger Probleme des Griechischen behilflich sein könnte. 20

I. De Vos and O. Grinchenko, ‘The Quaestiones ad Antiochum ducem’ (2014), 142. Buch der Antworten des heiligen Athanasius auf die Fragen des heiligen Kyrill von Jerusalem [Գիրք պատասխանական սրբոյն Աթանասիոսի հարցմանցն սրբոյն Կիւրղի Երուսաղէմացւոյ] (Konstantinopel, 1749). 21

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